


Lament

by Kimmuendo



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Tragedy, Bittersweet Ending, Canonical Character Death, Post-Apocalypse, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-01
Updated: 2009-07-01
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 71,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6473335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimmuendo/pseuds/Kimmuendo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story was originally published on Fan Fiction . net. Old, but a favourite. Fallout 3 provided me the foundation which allowed me to write the story that I always wanted to write but didn't know it. This is a look at the unfulfilled quest that Bethesda never managed to get into the final game, including some character and story exploration along the way, of reuniting Gob with his adoptive family.</p><p>On her hopeless search for her father, the Lone Wanderer from Vault 101 met someone who would change her life forever. Little did she know that she had moved him as well, despite appearances. A not so fluffy tale of a Lone Wanderer and Charon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Star in the Wastes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lone wanderer naively walks into a city full of ghouls.

I was trained not to act on anything other than my orders from the one who held my contract. There is no way around it—I am a servant to my master, and whoever may hold that contract holds my existence. Don’t get me wrong—I hate that motherfucker of a ghoul Ahzrukhal, but as long as he had that paper in his hands, I couldn’t respond in any other way than with protection or loyalty to him. On the outside, I’m some sort of mindless ghoul that responds to anything Ahzrukhal demands and tells everyone else to fuck off, but I do have a mind of my own, somewhere in my head. When I saw the boss for the first time, I had some opinions about her.

When she entered the Ninth Circle, she brought along this air of independence and attitude, like she was someone who didn’t take shit from nobody. It had the same effect as a unicorn trying to look evil. I never took to anyone, especially some smoothskin. Who the hell did she think she was, wandering into Underworld? It was a city run by ghouls, inhabited only by ghouls. And if you’ve never heard of a ghoul, you fucking mole rat, we’re sorry assholes that’d received just the right amount of radiation to make our skin fall off, some of our organs melt, and our lifespans inflate, like it was some sort of sick fuck’s joke to make us suffer through that forever. Smoothskins thought we were monsters and chased us out of their towns. Yeah, there was a lot of lynching. So this city, tucked away in the ruins of the Museum of History in the heart of D.C., was a safe haven for us, and not a welcome place for a porcelain doll like her.

How the fuck did she make it in the front door without getting chased out with pitch forks and torches? Must’ve had a way with words, that one. Especially because she looked fucking weird. The kind of weird where everyone in the bar turned to her to stare, even those that couldn’t give to shits if she was a smoothskin or not. Something like her couldn’t be natural. She had this head of long, silvery blonde hair, almost as if it were white, kind of like a ghoul’s hair if it used to be yellow. You’d think that it’d give her a delicate look, but as she stalked across the floor, I saw her pitch black eyes taking in the room, like two trap pits waiting to suck in any unsuspecting idiot that dared walk near them. To top it all off, she was wearing this ridiculous vault suit, only a little dirtied and torn. Fucking fresh meat. She wouldn’t last, even with the balls she seemed to have.

Her eyes landed on me, but she didn’t give so much as a double take before she sat at the bar. I found that awfully bold too—most ghouls cowered every day when they saw me standing in the corner of the bar, watching over Ahzrukhal and his miserable hide. They had the wherewithal to know what I stood for. If my orders weren’t to stay put and leave the customers alone, I woulda torn her a fresh one and chased her all the way to the museum concourse. Every second I watched her, I grew more agitated. I wanted her the fuck outta Underworld, but there was no way I could do that. I was hoping the asshole, Ahzrukhal, would do it himself, but he encouraged her, fucking encouraged her, chattin’ her up for all she was worth.

“Ah, ghoul, human, I don’t care,” Ahzrukhal wheezed, “the caps all spend the same.”

“I’m glad we’ve established that,” she said. Her voice was smooth, but real fuckin’ cold. “Please pass the wine.”

“Certainly, ma’am,” he tried to reply smoothly (but like every ghoul, it came out like a death rattle) and he grabbed a bottle from the lower shelf behind him, placing it in front of her. “That will be twenty-five caps.”

“I’m not interested in starting any confrontations.” She popped the cork without much effort (because it had been shoved in rather poorly when it was re-bottled) and took a sip from the bottle. Not very ladylike, but Ahzrukhal didn’t exactly give her a glass, either. “You have the caps in your hand.”

“My dear girl, I am afraid I have not received payment for your beverage,” he said, his voice leaking out from him like a perpetually dying animal. Of course the kid paid him—I saw her put the caps down and his greasy hand swipe it up. That didn’t mean I was going to throw a fucking campaign for her case. 

I nudged her shoulder with the barrel of my gun. “Pay.”

She looked up over her shoulder at me, and I don’t know if she was intentionally trying to intimidate me, but I found her expression hilarious. It was blank, but those black eyes were just burning with rage. Something besides Ahzrukhal had pissed in her Sugar Bombs, that was for sure.

She was a wannabe hard ass but she was smart. She pulled another handful of caps from her pocket, counted them, then placed them on the counter rather calmly, considering her circumstances. “Thank you, madame,” Ahzrukhal said.

She didn’t answer the slick bastard, but instead she took another swig of wine. “It’s quite good here,” she said, holding out the bottle and reading the label. Fuck, she was cheeky.

Ahzrukhal waved me away (the motherfucker), and I turned back to my corner, refitting my shotgun on my back. “I’m glad you take to it. It’s a 2075, Chardonnay, very well aged, if I do say so myself.”

She took another drink instead of answering.

“So,” Ahzrukhal said, that familiar tone of plotting and sick intention seeping into his voice, “what brings your business into Underworld?”

“I’m looking for my father.”

If I didn’t have the orders to keep silent, I would have scoffed. What made her think she’d find another smoothskin running around down here? It was crazy enough that she was allowed in, but two? Fucking brat. Ahzrukhal found this amusing too, for he chuckled his awful, grinding chuckle.

“And to what do you owe your belief that your father would be here?”

“I’ve been checking every place.” She took another swig. It was only wine, but she was turning out to be some sort of hard drinker.

“I have to be quite honest with you, child. If your father is still human, he would not be here, let alone ever come across this place. Thus, I have to say, I am quite confounded as to how you chanced upon this city, and how you have made your stay here without rising a disturbance.”

“I’m quite civil. It doesn’t hurt to look everywhere.”

“Oh, but it can."

“If I’m that much of a disturbance,” she said, rising off of her stool, “I’ll take my caps elsewhere.”

“I meant no offence, of course. I was only curious. Please, sit.”

She looked at the seat, then took another sip of her wine. “Not if your body guard is going to listen in on every word we utter,” she said, smooth tone dropping. She placed the half empty bottle on the counter a little less than gently, and motioned to it with distaste. “It’s a Sauvignon Blanc, and it tastes like vinegary grass. Have a nice day.”

She breezed past me, and didn’t so much as make eye contact with anyone as she pushed past the door, her icy demeanor hanging in the air. Well, I’m not a poet or anything, but that’s the only way I could describe it. The bitch was cold, but she wasn’t evil, not like Ahzrukhal. I kept my composure stoic and expressionless as he looked to me—not that I could do otherwise—and he brushed a hand over his wisps of hair, putting the small confrontation aside. I’d like to say that I was unmoved by the whole thing, but that little scene was damn well fun. A pale, fair-haired girl—smoothskin kid—riling up Ahzrukhal’s feathers. Oh yeah, I was amused, if not just a tad bit impressed. But she was out of the bar, and I was starting to feel just a bit better, just a bit more at ease, but that wasn’t the last I saw of the boss. Yeah, she and I were going to be doing a lot of business together. A hell of a thing it is, but I never got her name.

I still regret that.

*

The moment I stepped into the Wastes, I knew that every notion I had had of being resourceful, independent, intelligent, and strong had been childishly misplaced. I was raised in the shelter of the Vault for so long, that facing potential danger around every bend and every slope was too much to handle. I had a few close calls, but with time, I got used to hiding and running. I got used to everything so much that I suppose I became numb. I didn’t care if people helped me or not (considering they rarely did help me) and I didn’t care if people were saved or hurt because of my actions. When I was first expelled from home, I did care for the well-being of the general populace. My first experience with the Wasteland locals was to be shot at and threatened to be raped and murdered and eaten, in no particular order. Compassion can’t survive that long in a place like this.

At first, I was angry for him leaving me behind in the Vault. He had gone in the middle of the night without saying a word. He thought I would be safest there, I suppose. But no one ever left the Vault. The door hadn’t been opened since it had been closed during the nuclear war two hundred years ago. Naturally, his breaking out was a nightmare. And everyone blamed me for it. They were willing to kill me for it.

Even if I could go back there, I wouldn’t. I longed for comfort, for safety, I longed to know that my best friend Amata would be right there for me, but I knew that there was no going back to that. I belonged nowhere now. Not in Vault 101, and certainly nowhere in the Wasteland, so the only thing I had left was to find my father. Wherever he was was the only place I had left. Finding him, however, had proven more difficult than I could have imagined. The world was a lot bigger than the Vault, and no amount of reading could prepare you for how it swallows you whole.

The first human settlement I came across outside the Vault was Megaton. It was a town built around the crater that still housed the atomic bomb that never detonated. There’s something to be said for drawing closer to death for life. It had maybe a hundred residents, all of them small people, probably from generations of malnutrition. Some were menacing and wore old car parts for armour. Some wore rags and collected soda bottle caps to trade for food. And some were clean, intelligent, and avid conversationalists. Honestly, I thought I could ask for a helping hand and receive it without a moment’s hesitation. 

I learned quite quickly that all of those people only spoke to others if they saw some sort of angle they could gain from. Some asked for sexual favours in return for my help. Some seemed polite enough while surreptitiously putting a price on their time (it turns out bottle caps were the currency used here). Some of them asked for much worse things in exchange for help. Then there were those who had seen him, but no one dared tell me anything in fear of something much worse than I.

After that, I left Megaton behind, and began searching for my father the hardest way possible—one step at a time. I scoured each and every crevasse of the Wasteland. Pre-war ruins, natural caves, other settlements, in old cars and decrepit shacks. If my father was only half a day ahead of me, I would surely find him in due time. But as they days steadily increased, the further and farther away he got from me, and I knew my chances of ever seeing him again had died. With nothing else, though, just looking for him every day was all that kept me going. I’d never find him, but I could not stop looking.

Then I found Underworld.

I wanted to storm from Ahzrukhal’s bar but kept my composure. I wanted to see Carol. Of all the vermin I’d met so far, she was the most human, including some of my previous bunkermates in Vault 101, even though I wasn’t sure if one could call her human anymore. I had visited her earlier in the day, and she offered me her life story from before the war in 2077. Unfortunately, she had no information of my father, a man named James from Vault 101. I couldn’t have expected anything more than that. I did learn everything there was to know about ghouls and how they functioned, however, and I was careful with this information. The fact that ghouls were vehemently opposed by humans, and they themselves had qualms of their unfortunate transformation, I was wary of how I regarded Carol after that. I wasn’t sure if she’d turn on me like everyone before her had after offering me false kindness. However, she still seemed to confront me with a certain liking, for when I stepped into her inn, she smiled at me kindly from behind her desk.

“Oh, how lovely it is to see you again!” Carol chimed in her scratchy voice as I walked through the door. “Are you looking to rent a room for the night, perhaps?”

“Yes.” I leaned on the counter. “I was wondering, though…the tall ghoul in the Ninth Circle. Who is he?”

“Oh, you must mean Charon.” She had to blink the fear away. “He’s Ahzrukhal’s personal bodyguard. He’s been here for, oh…quite a few years now. He’s very loyal to Ahzrukhal, but not by choice.”

“Not by choice. What do you mean?”

“It’s a horrible story, really,” Carol replied sadly, opening her cash register and digging out a handful of caps. She started to count them on the counter absentmindedly in front of me; either this was a show of trust, or she wanted to distract herself as she recounted the tale. “Story goes that when he was a boy, he was brainwashed into serving anyone who held his contract. Blindly, not to mention. Whatever his contract holder commands, he does.” She dumped her caps back into the register and scooped out another handful. “Who knows for how many years he’s been living his life for other people. Just a constant cycle of slavery for him.”

“How is it that he ended up here with Ahzrukhal?”

“Oh, nobody knows that but those two,” Carol said, waving a hand through the air and shaking her head slightly. “For all I know, Charon could’ve accidentally blundered into one of Azhrukhal’s greasy traps. Poor boy.”

“So, he’s strictly forbidden to do anything other than what his employer dictates?”

“In a nutshell, yes. I’m not sure if the man’s completely brainwashed, or if he really feels hate and distaste for each and every one of us. He seems to look at everybody that way, at least. He doesn’t talk to anyone other than Ahzrukhal, so there’s no real way of telling for sure.”

So, either he was your greatest enemy, or the most useful asset in a battle. “Ahzrukhal is virtually untouchable, then.”

“Yes, unless you could stomach standing up to Charon.”

I had hand-to-hand combat training, but he had a good foot on me an a couple dozen kilograms, at least. He could have wiped the floor with me, so to speak.

When I didn’t carry the conversation any further, Carol started to wring her hands. “Actually, I was thinking…I have a favour to ask of you.”

I wasn’t keen on doing people favours; no one seemed to want to do me one by helping me find my father. But I could see the unease in the way Carol fidgeted, her sharp red eyes darting from side to side. I did not cut her off, nor egg her on, but waited for her to continue.

“About Gob…”

Gob, the ghoul she loved like a son. When I first met Carol, I couldn’t help but ask her if she was the Carol who knew the ill-fated bartender back in Megaton. When Carol heard that I had met Gob, she was so delighted, asking me a plethora of questions and I tried to answer them the best I could. I honestly hadn’t converse with him all too much. He’d been one of the people that had been reluctant to help me when I asked about my father. He was harmless and spineless, but he was also quite likely a slave to the man who owned the bar, much like this Charon. The moment I had told Carol this, she had held her composure well. I’m sure that on the inside, she was simply falling apart.

“I was hoping…I know this is so much to ask of you, I know you’re trying to look for your father, but…could you bring my son home? I know it would be dangerous, taking him away from his master, but I…after you told me what happened to him, I don’t think I could bear it day to day knowing he’s unhappy.”

My automatic response would have been no, but I stopped myself before I spoke. I was a daughter, roaming the Wastes in an endless search to find my father, unwilling to help others in return for their help, expecting only kindness for my gratitude. I think I was afraid of the guilt, the blood stained hands, the chances of death, but most of all, I was worried about how it would change me. If I did all those things people asked of me, would I be the same daughter that my father had left behind? Carol was a mother who had no likely way of seeing her own son again, each bound by their livelihood and their fate. She had nothing to offer me but her hopes. She was at my mercy. We were the same.

I thought on this for a moment, and then I nodded. “I’ll help you get Gob back. But,” I interjected quickly, just as her eyes lit up, “his master, Moriarty, won’t let him go until his room and board are paid off. If you want me to get Gob out of there safely, I’m going to need a lot of caps.”

“Oh, my dear, of course!” Carol nearly sang, absolutely radiant with joy. This shocked me; I hadn’t met anyone that would have accepted such a ludicrous term so eagerly, both in the Wasteland and in the Vault. “I’m willing to give you my life savings for him! Please, if you think you can do this for me, I’ll be forever grateful.”

I hesitated. “Of course.” All the other favours and ill deeds I turned down would have been to earn the commodity of my father’s location, whereas this favour was in no way beneficial to my goal. I think that I accepted Carol’s request so easily because I could understand her misfortune. I realized that I really was selfish, wishing that others would just help me out because I was in need, but I suppose it was really me who was being unaccommodating. I wasn’t the only helpless one out there.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” Carol said, reaching across the counter and grasping either side of my face. Her hands were so hot, and the remainder of her skin scraped against me where she touched my cheeks, but I did not pull away. The simple gesture pulled at my heart.

“I have no idea how much it will cost you to bail out Gob, but I’ll give you everything, just to be safe. This might not even cover it, but…I trust you. You’re not bad for a human, and I know I can count on you.”

This was the first time since Amata had told me to leave and never come back that I’d willingly set aside my search for my father. At the rate I was going, I was going to lose my mind sooner than later. Maybe, just maybe, I was doing this to feel human again. If I could help a mother and son find each other again, maybe I could feel like I had found what I was looking for.

Carol dipped down behind the counter, placing suitcase after suitcase down on the table in front of her. “There’s…two thousand…caps in each…of these,” she said as she placed each one down. Carol stood straight, absolutely beaming.

There were four of them. I stared. That was far too much money. And she was just willing to hand it over to me. Someone she just met. Someone she ought not trust so easily. That’s not to mean I was going to steal it from her and go back on my word. I would be cheating myself that way. But eight thousand caps. And to carry it all?

“I’ll need a backpack for these.”

“Yes, yes, let me get one for you!” I could see the exposed muscle in her face contracting as she brandished her rotten teeth in a smile. She disappeared around the corner.

She was a kind-hearted woman. It felt warm to be around someone like that. It had been so long. Maybe, after all, all I needed to do was to put my own interests on hold while I helped others in need within my capabilities. Bring back what was strongest about me. I used to protect people for a living. Could I not still do that? Return myself to a state of normality? My father would have to wait. I couldn’t find him in the way I was. I wouldn’t have wanted him to see me like that.

Carol returned with a backpack that looked older than her. She put the suitcases inside and we tested the strength of the straps. The integrity wasn’t all that great, so she offered to reinforce the bag overnight with brahmin leather.

She touched my hand again, positively beaming. “It’s getting late. You’d better stay for the night. I won’t charge you, of course, and there’ll be a free meal in it for you.”

“Thank you,” was all I could say.

Nothing was to go as planned. Nothing ever does, though, does it? It’s like a stream of water on your hand: there’s no way to tell which way it will fall until it does. I suppose it’s this factor which makes life more beautiful, for everything is unpredictable, but my fate and Charon’s weren’t going to slide off onto the beautiful side of the hand. But, if I could go back and relive those moments, I wouldn’t change a thing.


	2. Hired Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smoothskin realizes she can't do it all alone.

“Hey, Ahzrukhal,” Nurse Graves burst into the Ninth Circle. The patrons looked up from their beers and whiskeys, watching the woman with bloodied overalls clamber up to the bar and lean in towards the dirty bastard. “We need help getting an injured civilian to the Chop Shop. Could you get Charon to come with us outside?”

Ah, fucking hell. Yes, I was an instrument for Ahzrukhal’s use, much as I hated to admit it, but man, did it piss me right off when people talked about me while I was there, like I was some sort of guard dog that couldn’t tell my ass from my head. I didn’t have a grudge against anyone in Underworld other than Ahzrukhal, but I wasn’t exactly anyone’s best buddy either. I rarely saw Nurse Graves or Doctor Barrows, but when she came in yelling like a god damned banshee like that to use me, it rattled my cage.

Ahzrukhal made a pondering noise. “I would like to,” he replied coyly, running his thumb and forefinger over his god-awfully broad chin, “but I can’t spare Charon for a moment, you see. He is my only protection. If he were to be gone just when a thug attempted to take from my establishment, why, what would become of me?”

“You fucking slime ball,” Graves muttered, leaning in close, “don’t forget where your source of ultra jet comes from.”

She had said it at a volume that suggested she would have been discreet about it, but everyone in the bar had paused to listen in. The crooked smile faded off of Ahzrukhal’s face, and he dropped his hand from his chin. “Charon, accompany Nurse Graves and assist her until she dismisses you, then return here.”

“Yes, Ahzrukhal.” You lousy son of a bitch.

Graves turned from the bar, looking up at me and waving her hand to get me to follow her. Again, with the animal treatment. Christ. I followed her at a set pace as she jogged from the bar. One of my strides covered two of hers. She ran off down the stairs, bursting through the exhibit doors, and I kept myself within three strides of her at all times. It’s amazing how that small piece of paper works; I didn’t even have to see it to have it rule over my life.

Graves led me around the decrepit reception desk that sat up front, then pushed through the doors to the mall.

I hadn’t been outdoors for fifteen years, not since Ahzrukhal killed my last master and took my contract. I squinted and lifted an arm to try block out the sun. It was overcast but it was fucking bright.

I looked around for Willow. Where I was stuck indoors forever, she was always scouting the mall. She was another ghoul that I barely talked to, but we got along all right, as far as talking to one another every five years went.

As we neared the road, gunshots fired off to the west, near the Washington Monument. Last I’d heard, the Brotherhood of Steel were holed up there.

“Shit! Charon, come on!” Graves yelled over her shoulder, and I picked up the pace to keep up after her. We rounded the corner, and a few yards alongside the wall, Doctor Barrows was slowly dragging a body across the road, while Willow covered him from gunfire. She was crouched, inching along beside him as she fired at the monument’s entrance, where all the armoured smoothskins set up shop.

Fuck, I hated the Brotherhood. Always thought they were doing some sort of saint’s work when they shot us down. Couldn’t even help a civilian when he’s lying wounded out in the open, right beside a super mutant’s nest. Arrogant sacks of shit.  
We got closer, and Graves patted Barrows on the shoulder, pointing towards me. “Charon, cover us!” Graves called over the sounds of gunfire, and I pulled my shotgun, kneeling down beside Willow.

“Pleasant surprise,” she grunted, firing off the last of her magazine before reloading. “Didn’t think you’d ever get out of that shit hole of a bar.”

I didn’t think so either, but I didn’t say anything. My shotgun wasn’t a great long-range weapon, but there were a few armoured bastards just close enough. Not fifteen years ago, I wouldn’t have dared fire at another man dressed in Power Armour, not while I was with Schafer. But those restrictions disappeared once that contract fell into Ahzrukhal’s hands.

“Fuck!” Willow shouted, gripping her arm. One of the Knights up ahead had a minigun, and was trying to spray us with five millimeter bullets from behind a huge mound of rubble. She moved her hand, blood gushing like mad. She shook it off and kept firing. Tough fucking broad. Graves and Barrows were behind us, and I would have asked why the fuck we weren’t drawing back inside, but it wasn’t within my limits to be that “unpleasant.”

“Let’s make it quick, shall we?” Willow barked, ducking with me as another minigun storm ricocheted off the scrap in our cover.

“We have to slow the bleeding, or she’ll die by the time we get her inside,” said Barrows.

I heard her cry out, but it sounded like she tried to stifle it the moment it left her. I didn’t get a look at the damage when I passed them; Barrows was dragging her by her armpits with his back to me when we got there, but it sounded like she was about to fall to pieces.

“Okay, okay, let’s go!”

We walked backwards, shielding Barrows and Graves. A laser beam flew past my head. I went low and Willow went high. Jesus, was it really so fucking important to them to take us down? Fuck me sideways, if this wasn’t annoying. We rounded the corner, just before the escalators to the metro station, and we relaxed our guard a bit. They weren’t likely to follow us that far into our territory, and if they did, we had some time to recover.

“I’ll keep watch out here, you guys get her inside.” Hopefully Willow wasn’t directing this towards me, ’cuase I wouldn’t have given two shits what she wanted to do. Right now, I could only do what Graves told me to do. I kept backing up, my eyes trained on the corner, waiting for any sort of orders.

“Wait, Graves, put her down,” Barrows said. The girl they had started crying. “We can’t carry her all the way there that fast. Charon, give us a hand!”

I didn’t move. Then again, if I were my own person, I wouldn’t have even agreed to helping them out in the first place. I couldn’t do anything until Graves commanded it.

Finally Graves spoke up. “Charon, take her backpack and carry her to the Chop Shop.”

I took my eyes off the corner, slung my shotgun on my back, and went to collect the target.

Inside, I was scoffing. It was the same blonde smoothskin lying on the ground between the two surgeons, doused in her own blood. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she was writhing, her hands hovering over a few bullet wounds in her stomach. First I swung her fucking ridiculously heavy sack over my shoulder—what was she carrying in there, a dozen rockets?—then I lifted her easily, tossing her up to shift her weight (she screamed right in my fucking ear and if it weren’t for that order I woulda thrown her back on the ground). I followed Barrows and Graves inside. After a couple of steps, her head rolled on my arm, and she coughed up some blood.

“Hurry!” Graves shouted, rushing after Barrows. I quickened my step like she said, but I had no fucking clue as to why she was so important to these two. She was just some smoothskin bitch. Who let herself get shot up by super mutants. You know, those big lumbering green morons that have less brains than a brahmin? A waste of valuable resources, patching this one up, if you asked me.

We got back into the Museum of History (good fucking thing too, I was starting to realize I didn’t miss the outdoors), and we rushed towards the Underworld concourse. A few ghouls gathered as we crossed the marble floor towards the clinic, while blood dripped from the kid’s wounds.

“Whoa, what happened to her?”

Everyone’s eyes were trained on us as we burst into the Chop Shop, and I stopped at the door, waiting for my next instruction.

“Put her down there,” Graves instructed, pointing with a gnarled, skinless finger at one of the empty beds. The sheets were white, but the moment I lowered her onto it, they were bright red. Barrows and Graves came up behind me, his hands full with a scalpel, a pair of tweezers, and some gauze, and hers with stimpaks. “Hold her shoulders, Charon,” she said hurriedly, standing on the opposite side of the bed from Barrows.

I put my hands firmly down on the girl’s shoulders. She muffled another cry, trying to fight against the pressure, but I kept her down. I got a better look at her injuries. She was just riddled with holes, and only parts of her hair and face were still blonde. Her pale face, too, was painted red. She was baring her teeth and whining. Not screaming or crying anymore. It’s like she had something to prove right before she kicked the bucket.

Graves started to tear apart her suit. The girl bucked against my hands. Graves grabbed her hands, holding them down. Barrows quickly grasped the tweezers and carefully plunged into one of her bullet holes.

As soon as those tweezers touched the hunk of metal in one of her wounds, the kid went fucking ballistic. I pressed down harder. Barrows was having a hell of a time trying to get the bullets out. After minutes of squirming, he finally got one out of her. Great, one down, countless more to go.

“Graves, stimpak,” Barrows muttered under his breath as he moved onto the next bullet wound. I thought I’d had enough of this bullshit at the time. I thought I’d rather be getting back to Ahzrukhal’s ugly mug. Then she opened her eyes and looked right up at me. No one had eyes that dark. I felt kind of weirded out, like the bitch was trying to worm her way into my head. I looked at her torn-up body instead. 

Graves finally found a way to stake the stimpak into her wound, and the kid went slack and her head fell to the side. Barrows paused to take a pulse. “Passed out,” he announced, and went back to his work, being able to take out the bullets without her squirming to stop him.

“You can go, Charon,” Graves said to me, without looking up, before she stuck another stimpak into the kid’s midriff. I dropped the kid’s backpack on the floor by the gurney and started to walk away. I caught myself looking down at her before I left. She looked—ah, I dunno, pristine might be the best word, which is really fucked up because she was wearing more blood than she was pumping in her veins and it’s not a word overly used in my vocabulary. I managed to throw myself for a shitty loop. What the hell was wrong with me? Why was I so shaken up? As I walked away, I couldn’t stop thinking about her face, her hard, black eyes.

*

When I woke up, I was gripping onto a ghoul’s wrist. She had wisps of red hair and a look of fear about her dead face. I noticed I was still gripping her, even though I figured out she wasn’t a threat, and I let her go, lowering my hand. I was lying on some sort of bed, in a room that smelled—for lack of a better term—like a house made of feces.

“You’re in Underworld. Again,” the ghoul said. “You’ve been in and out for about a day. How are you feeling?”

I throbbed all over. I lowered my hand to my stomach, touching it gingerly. A hiss came from between my teeth before I could even register the pain. “I think I’ll manage,” I said, groggy.

“You were ambushed by super mutants,” the woman explained, lifting the sheet off of me and checking my dressings. “You were in pretty bad shape when we found you.”  
I should have died out there. “How did you find me?”

“Our sentry, Willow, saw you after you were shot,” she explained, putting the sheet back and disappearing from my view. I tried to tilt my head to the side to watch, but it hurt. I settled for listening to her talk instead. “She came to get us when she found out she couldn’t carry you by herself. By the time we got there, the Brotherhood started taking pot shots at us. We got Charon out to help us fend off the attacks and get you inside.”

Charon? The bodyguard under Ahzrukhal’s charge? I was going to question as to how she was able to get him to help, let alone how they got him to help a smoothskin, when it occurred to me that I really had no idea as to why they put so much effort into saving me in the first place. “Why am I here?”

“Well, we may look half-dead, but we’re not soulless,” the ghoul retorted with a scoff. “We weren’t going to leave you lying there to be super mutant meal.”

I suppose I was wrong about the Wasteland. Some still had the heart to lend a hand, and to me, of all people. I hadn’t been the most polite guest to some of the residents, and I wasn’t always keen on helping out others myself. I owed them a debt. “Thank you," was all I could offer for the time being.

“Ah, well, we heard you were helping Carol out. She said you were a good kid.”

That’s right, that’s where I was going. Gob. How could I save Gob if I couldn’t last five minutes on the outside?

“I’m Nurse Graves, by the way,” she said over me, returning with a bottle of water. “Doctor Barrows is the ghoul in charge here.”

I was about to prop myself up on my elbows, but the sudden shock of pain kept me still. Nurse Graves slipped her flaky hand under my neck, and helped tilt me upwards to drink. I swallowed it but spluttered some. She lowered me down again, and I made a face. “Is that water filtered?”

“Unfortunately, no. Sorry, honey, it’s all we’ve got down here.”

That was one of the worst troubles of traversing the Wasteland: radiation. I had read of military treatments being commissioned before the war, which worked like an intravenous to clear out the body’s radiation, but I hadn’t found any. Two hundred years of inactive production was enough to exhaust any supply of materials. I wasn’t keeping track of the radiation levels in my body, but I knew they were getting too high to be safe. I had to be more careful, or else I would end up like every last ghoul in Underworld. Or I would die a painful death.

“You’re going to have to stay down here for at least another day,” Nurse Graves said, carefully poking a stimpak into a vein on my left arm. “It looks like your metabolism works well with stimpaks, but you’re going to have to take it easy if you want out of here faster.”

“All right.” I supposed there wouldn’t be any way around it; the more I struggled, the longer I had to stay in this stinking room. To help the time pass, she offered me some powerful anesthetic—powerful as in ghoul grade, which was far more potent than anything a human needed—and I immediately fell unconscious for over three days. I was lucky she didn’t kill me.

We made conversation whenever I was conscious and coherent. “We washed you, fed you, even kept a bedpan under your ass,” Nurse Graves joked, making me feel small. I knew it was inevitable, but something about being dependent on someone else to take care of me was demeaning. “And don’t worry about your state of health; we didn’t run experiments on you in your sleep.”

“That’s…reassuring.” I did not want to sound too ungrateful. “Thank you. I’m lucky that you helped.”

After a few more days she deemed me fit to leave. I tried sitting up for the first time, clutching the sheet to myself. My suit had been cut up in the operation, and there was nothing left of it but scraps. The good nurse was fishing for a set of new clothes for me from a filing cabinet, and in the meantime I got a good look at the room. There was a body draped across the bed across from me; it was the corpse of a feral ghoul. Where the ghouls in this city were still in their right mind, these ghouls had received too much radiation after they changed, and lost their minds, acting more like dogs than people. I stared at it until the nurse returned with a bundle.

“Well, here you go, on the house,” she said, placing the clothes on my lap. “How about you just make sure you do that favour for Carol to pay us back? It would mean a lot to her, to all of us. Gob was a character, I personally miss him.”

She turned away so I could dress myself in private. A tattered hoodie, some fingerless gloves, and some dirtied khakis is what she had to offer. That, and my large backpack that had carried Carol’s life savings. It had remained miraculously unscathed and no one had taken any of the caps. “I’m not sure if I can do it by myself,” I admitted as I started to put my boots back on.

Nurse Graves knelt to help me with them.

"No, I mean rescue Gob."

She looked up at me and laughed. “Oh, gosh, kid, of course not!”

My expression must have looked more offended than I intended it to be, because she seemed to recoil. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant…well…you’re just one person. Not a whole lot of people can make it on their own out there, no matter how tough you are. You should really hire some help.”

Thus, I found myself wandering back into the Ninth Circle. I thought if there was anywhere in Underworld I might find someone willing to accompany all the way to Megaton, he or she would be there. Of course, I wasn’t about to spend Carol’s money on any hired help; I had plenty of caps of my own, and I was only hoping I had enough for the going rate.

From the looks on their half-rotten faces when I entered, I could tell I was the subject of gossip between Underworld’s citizens over the last week or so. Everyone but Ahzrukhal had drawn their attention my way. He stood behind the counter, his hands pressed together and his head bowed. It looked like he was in some sort of prayer, but I wasn’t about to let that stop me. I walked up to the bar, and leaned against the counter, shoulders squared. “I need information.”

Ahzrukhal’s eyes opened very slowly, and he tipped his head up towards me even slower. I waited. His hands lowered, and he seemed to eye me up and down before he replied. “You’ve recovered.”

“Yes.”

He didn’t seem pleased by this. Until, suddenly, he cracked a smile, standing straighter and motioning to me in a friendly gesture. “Of course, my dear,” he started, “how might I help you?”

He hated me. “I was wondering if there were any mercenaries for hire here in Underworld, someone who might consider accompanying me to Megaton.”

I couldn’t make it on my own in the Wastes. I had been lucky for the first month. Not thirty seconds into my new task and I had almost died. I needed someone with me who knew what she or he was doing out in the world. Besides, a bodyguard might have a certain “negotiating” effect on any bargaining I might have to do with Moriarty when I got there. I could see something flash behind Ahzrukhal’s eyes.

“Well, you could always request services from Quinn, although he might be out trading with the caravans somewhere in the Wastes at present. Willow might also be of service, although she has been with us for years, and there’s little chance she would be leaving us now.”

I could feel eyes on my back. It had nearly escaped me that Charon had helped save me a few days before, but I knew that it was strictly under orders. How the Doctor and Nurse had managed to negotiate those orders, I wasn’t sure. I turned my head over my shoulder slowly and looked over at the bouncer. Of course, his eyes were boring into me. His face was mean, like he was trying to put me off, but I held the glance for a little while.

I looked back around to Ahzrukhal when I had made my decision. “What of Charon?”

Ahzrukhal thought this funny.

“Oh, my dear, Charon is an important commodity in my bar. He is practically invaluable; I wouldn’t ever be willing to part with him.” Unless it was for the right price, his smile seemed to say.

I felt odd, talking about a man not ten feet away so casually as if he wasn’t really there at all. Ahzrukhal folded his arms and looked down at me with a crooked grin. “What would be your offer?” he said with a slick voice. He knew he held the upper hand and was boasting it.

I turned my head slightly towards the corner again, but I did not look at Charon fully. “One thousand.” I wasn’t a barterer, but even I knew one started low and worked towards what they were actually willing to pay.

A true merchant that he was, Ahzrukhal knew this rule too. “Pah!” he wheezed. “You can’t be serious, child. Come back when you have a real offer.”

I went for the only angle I could see. “But he hasn’t been of much use to you, being that his only purpose is to intimidate young women into paying for wine and carrying them to the clinic when they’re in trouble.”

“He ensures that I receive the caps that are due.”

“If you don’t mind me saying so, sir,” I said with a low voice, leaning in, “but I think he would have more use to you away from the bar; perhaps he’s scaring off more customers than attracting them.”

He smiled patronizingly. “You cannot fully comprehend this, child, for all of your skin is still intact, but this is a sanctuary for ghouls. I attract them from all over. Charon ensures that each of them coming here remembers to behave himself.”

I was going out on a limb with this, but I had narrowed Ahzrukhal down to a man who valued wealth only nearly as much as he valued power. I leaned forward and whispered, “And take away your authority? Does Ahzrukhal run this bar, or his menacing bouncer?”

This seemed to have the desired effect, based on the flicker on his face.

He began twisting a dial on a safe underneath the counter. It clicked open, and he swung the heavy door sideways, reaching in with a ruined hand and pulling out a yellowed piece of paper. It had ten items on it and a drawn symbol on the bottom. It was so short. It felt wrong to look at it. “Fifteen hundred caps, and this contract is yours.”

Push, I thought to myself. “Twelve-fifty.”

“Fourteen.”

“Thirteen.”

“Done.”

My personal caps were in a marble bag tied to the rope belt holding up my khakis. I untied the knot with care and began to take out bundles of two-hundred. They stood in neat little stacks on his bar top. “You may count them, if you wish.”  
“No need,” he said cordially, “I believe we have a certain level of trust between us.” That hung in the air awkwardly. “Very well, here is the contract. Charon is now in your possession.”

I took the thin sheet of paper in my hands, withdrawing it from his dead-like fingers. The moment I held the paper, I heard heavy boots cross the bar. Uneasiness rose in my stomach when I turned my head slowly to see Charon approaching. He wasn’t looking at me—his eyes pinned on Ahzrukhal. I could see his chest rising and falling. I stayed very still. 

Ahzrukhal broke the silence. “Yes, Charon?”

“I see I’m no longer in your service, Ahzrukhal.” I suppose those were the first words I had ever heard him speak, besides “Pay,” and I felt them in my gut. His voice sounded much like most ghouls’, deep and raspy, but there was something darker underneath those words.

“Yes, Charon, your contract now belongs to our friend here,” he said, chuckling with a voice that sounded like he had smoked for hundreds of years. “Have you come to say goodbye?”

“Yes.”

Charon whipped his shotgun from his back and fired into Ahzrukhal’s face at point blank. I flinched as blood splattered across me. A cacophony of fear erupted as Ahzrukhal was splattered across his own wall. The shotgun had gone off right next to my ear and I was worried my eardrum had burst. Even before Ahzrukhal’s body slumped to the floor, Charon pelted him again, perhaps for effect. I hope it wasn’t a show for others, for most of the patrons had fled the bar, and he had already given me certain hearing damage.

I’d squeezed my eyes shut and opened them slowly again, almost expecting him to fire a third time. There was blood everywhere—across the shelf, the cash register, the counter, on Charon, on me—I looked down beyond the counter where a dead hand poked up from under the bar, then I apprehensively looked towards my newly hired companion.

“All right,” he said without looking at me, “let’s go.”

I stared up at him with wide eyes, then wiped away a speck of blood under my cheek, as if that was what would make the difference. “Are you certain you’re done?” 

“Yes.”

I had to get through the absurdity of the situation before I could ask: “Is this how you treat all your former employers?”

“Ahzrukhal was an evil bastard,” Charon explained with an odd air of politeness, “and your purchasing of my contract allowed me to rid this world of that greasy rat. And now, for good or for ill, I serve you.”

At the time, I wasn’t so sure if that was good news. But I couldn’t ever help but wonder; did he think on me and remember me in such a fond light as I did of him? Back then, I didn’t say anything, I simply reclaimed my bags of caps, walked from the bar, and I heard him follow in toe.


	3. Happiness is a Warm Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new business arrangement has a rocky start.

I scared everyone shitless when I blew Ahzrukhal's face off. Everyone except the boss, I should say. The most she did was flinch as the blood splattered across her face, and even after that, she was a little too calm. Between Ahzrukhal and this kid, she was like the Second Coming, but I still didn't like her. Well, fuck it, I didn't like anyone, in her defence.

Ghouls stared at us as we walked from the Ninth Circle, and those that weren't running from the bloody scene were inching towards it slowly to see what had happened. I knew no one would come after me. Everyone hated Ahzrukhal, and everyone was scared of me—except her, apparently, who was stalking off down the stairs ahead of me. I followed her at a brisk pace, holding my shotgun like a threat. Not only was I relieved of service to Ahzrukhal, but I got to blow his head off too. I was fucking radiant.

When we stepped out into the open, I covered my eyes with my hand again, although I was a little bit more prepared for the brightness this time. Willow was gone, probably off somewhere making a mess of a super mutant nest. The boss hadn't said anything to me, let alone look back at me when she left from the bar, but when we were halfway between the museum and the road, she paused. I stopped about three steps behind her, waiting. She was just standing there, motionless as a statue, then she turned around toward me. She was just fucking staring at me.

I grumbled under my breath. "Yes?"

"Let's discuss a strategy," she said, all business like she'd been with Ahzrukhal. "I hired you because I need protection. I'm not skilled in long range combat, and most in the Wasteland possess firearms. I'm going to need you to focus on enemies at a distance. Leave the close ones to me. Can you do that?"

"Certainly."

Man, what a bitch.

I had to keep reminding myself that she was a lot better candidate to have my contract than Ahzrukhal. Besides, she was a lot easier on the eyes too. She looked towards the street, probably apprehensively, then started off again. Not much of a talker either. I supposed this was better, 'cause I wasn't all too interested in having a conversation with her. But something bugged me about her condescending attitude towards me. Like I said, way better than Ahzrukhal, but still.

Though, let's be fair. I would've disliked her more if she was a chatterbox. I wasn't no babysitter. So I decided to sit back and enjoy the silence while it lasted. There was no chance she'd keep me around long before she sold my contract to someone else. 'Least, that's what I thought at the time. I wouldn't kill her when we parted ways like I'd done in Ahzrukhal. She didn't deserve that. But I wasn't exactly planning a fond farewell.

She started down the old metal escalator steps that led to the metro station underneath the museum, and I hung back to watch for attackers. I didn't know where she was taking me, but I'd had an idea.

I hear a lot of conversations in the bar and remember them. A couple days earlier two jack asses were gossiping while the boss was still recovering in the Chop Shop.

"Did you see that smoothskin that came in here the other day?"

"Yeah."

"Turns out she's going to do that errand for Carol."

"You mean, getting Gob back?" The guy snorted in his vodka, slapping a leathery hand on the table. "She's been asking everyone for the past few years to go look for that guy. Why the hell is the smoothskin helping Carol out?"

"I dunno. maybe there's caps in it for her. Apparently she knows where Gob is. Problem is, she got herself shot up just outside the museum just as she was leaving. Hopefully Carol doesn't get her hopes up on this girl. I doubt she'll last another five minutes on her own."

"I'll drink to that."

Well, at least I knew vaguely what we were doing. I was a little confused when I'd heard she was going to give Carol a lending hand. I was under the impression that she was only out to find her dad. Sudden change of heart, I guess. Well, Carol was nice enough, based on the two or three times I'd seen her, so maybe the boss got sweet-talked into it. Whatever, maybe she was a little better than I gave her credit for.

We'd made it to the bottom of the escalators, and now she was struggling with the gate to get it open. The hinges had been rusted over from years of disuse. I stood there, waiting for her to finish her fight with the chainlink gate, but she kept struggling. Ah. Fuck. Did I need an order to do this?

I stepped up behind her, grabbed the gate with one hand and wrenched it open, the hinges shrieking. She shot her eyes up at me, and I looked down at her. She looked pissed. Her mouth was thin and taught, and I could see the daggers she was glaring at me. Then I realized I must've been standing too close to her for either of us to be comfortable. I stepped back a bit, and she continued to glare. I motioned my gun forward. "After you."

The gate was wide enough for her to slip through, and as she did so she didn't bother waiting for me. I shoved my way through the gap as quick as I could—her orders were to cover her from threat and I couldn't do that if she was running away from me. Fuck.

I wasn't used to having such a silent master. I was expecting her to start reforming me, as in telling me what and what not to do, but she never said anything. Why the fuck did she buy my contract? I'd heard her conversation with Ahzrukhal about hiring a mercenary, but if she didn't like what was on his menu, why didn't she go to someone else? Christ, I shouldn't have been whining too much. I was grateful, in a way, but that didn't change the fact that I thought she was as rigid as the pole stuck up her ass.

When we walked into the upper level of the train station, a feral ghoul screeched from somewhere nearby, it's howl echoing across the train graveyard. I pulled my shotgun, smiling on the inside. The only thing that I enjoyed out of my contract was my ability to kill. I'm no serial killer, but when I have to protect my master from threats, I do it gladly. Combat was like fucking Christmas to me.

Any normal person as green as she was would've shit their pants, but the boss stepped up to the staircase and balled her fists. That was one thing that we had in common, I guess; we liked to kick the shit out of things that needed it.

I could hear the ghoul panting as it ran for the escalators, and I stepped in front of the kid, taking aim down the steps. When it ran out from the dark it reared its claw. It must've been four feet away from me when I peppered it with a shell. The body tumbled down the stairs. "Yeah, you like that?" I muttered.

I glanced at her sideways, then turned my head full towards her. She had more blood spattered on her. Man, I bet she loved that. "I had it," she said.

"The target was at long range. I dealt with it as per my orders."

She wiped some of the blood away, and with a cold stare she walked past me and headed down. I followed, feeling kinda pleased with myself for being a smart ass while still within my scope. I was guessing she didn't bother reading the contract. Suited me just fine. I knew what the rules were.

We were headed down a platform between two trains when I heard something in between one of the old compartments. I was about to warn her about it, but she paused too. We listened. I couldn't tell where it was exactly. But she could.

She flashed forward and reached in between the cars, tearing the intruder out from hiding and slamming him against the wall by the neck. I raised my shotgun to the raider's face, but I didn't dare fire—the kid was too close. But the way she held him—holy shit, she was holding him off the fucking ground—and his boots were kicking around uselessly. She had a good hold on him up until he kneed her in the chest. She stumbled backwards while he drew a gun.

No you don't, motherfucker.

I blew him to chunks and he flew sideways, while his revolver fell a short distance away. His body hit the ground before hers hit the train behind her.

"Are you all right?" I had to make sure my employer was fine. That was one of the rules.

She didn't answer me. Her chest rose and fell, and her eyes seemed to be locked on the wall across from her. I asked her again like she didn't hear me when she looked at me. I don't know if it was from seeing things get shot up, or from being this close to getting done in by some raider stray, but finally, she was looking a little scared. But there she went, storming off down the tunnel again. There was something different, something slower in her step.

Why the hell should I have cared how she walked, how she looked? If it wasn't then, I started to hate her less and sympathize with her a little more after we made camp outside the metro. Sorry, boss, I wish I was a little bit less of an asshole back then, but I can't change the past. No one can. Fuck this life. I thought it was bad just being a ghoul, but then there's those memories kicking around in my head all the time.

Nah, scratch that. I'd rather remember than not.

*

I felt a little guilty for leading Charon across the D.C. ruins and part of the Wasteland in silence. It wasn't that I was bothered by his slaughtering of Ahzrukhal, but that neither of us had anything to say to the other. We met no other threats again after the incident with the raider, but I was hoping for an ambush the entire way, any excuse for the silence. I knew that Charon and I weren't going to be very talkative with each other, and that he didn't mind my silence (I had the feeling he didn't like me very much), but there was something uncomfortable about it, as if there was something both of us had to say, but couldn't. Maybe I was so used to being alone for so long that I couldn't recall what it was like to exchange words. Others carried the conversation for me, even with Amata. But maybe, just maybe, I needed to reach out to someone, I just needed to talk to get it all off my chest.

We were sitting around the fire he and I had built from scraps we found lying in the area just outside the metro entrance. I barely told him of my decision to make camp; instead, I mumbled something incoherent about a fire before I collected some things off the ground to use. I'm not sure if he just assumed I'd commanded him to help, but he helped, regardless. He kept his distance from me, and I guess I was thankful. That might sound wrong. It's not that I found him repulsive. I just felt the need to distance myself from people in general. I was withdrawn.

We were sitting across from each other, the fire between us. He was taking apart his shotgun, recalibrating it, while I was staring into the fire uselessly. Despite walking through the trouble-ridden Wasteland for over a month, I hadn't encountered someone close enough to have to use my training, up until that boy by the train. I hadn't had to kill anyone yet. Not since…

I was bursting at the seams, and before I could hold myself back, I started to talk.

"I was trained as a security guard back in Vault 101."

I didn't look at him from across the fire, but from my peripheral vision, I could see him pause in his work with his gun and his head incline upwards towards me. I wondered if he could find interest in conversations or if he could only listen carefully for any orders that might have come his way. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. I just needed to say it all out loud. "I liked my job, too. I never really hurt anyone. I practiced non-violent crisis intervention. That was the most experience I'd had up until…"

I let my eyes fall to the ground before I continued, "I know you don't care who I am, only that I hold your contract, but you don't have to listen, if you don't want to. I just need to speak my mind."

There was more stillness and silence, but after a moment, he continued on his shotgun.

"No one ever left the Vault, but my father, he…He was a brilliant scientist and a doctor. It was just the two of us. Everything was fine, and he…I don't know how he got the door open. But he left. He didn't tell me he'd been planning on leaving. Or where he was going, or why he left me behind. I suppose he thought I'd be safe there, but there was a riot. No one was happy about him breaching the Vault and they had me to blame. I had to leave too. I've been alone ever since, so I apologize for the silence."

"No need to apologize, mistress."

So, he was listening. I was caught a little off guard, but I ensured he was still working on his shotgun before I continued. "I think…that wasn't the root of my problems. When I left I killed my Overseer and my supervisor."

His hands slowed slightly on the shotgun, but he didn't stop. "I don't know how much you know about Vaults. An Overseer is a kind of mayor, I suppose. But he was a man who was so blinded by his duty that he was willing to kill others to protect the idea of the Vault rather than its people. And my supervisor would do what he said without question. It was…I thought killing them was the right thing to do, considering how far the Overseer was willing to go. But. I can't stop seeing the bodies. I took lives. My only friend's father.

"I thought she hated him. He was torturing her when I saw them, but once he was dead, she…I don't think I'll ever get to see her again and I don't think she'll ever forgive me. "

I hadn't noticed that Charon had reassembled his shotgun and put it to the side long ago. He was staring at me like he was staring at a rather unpleasant sight. Chances are I was projecting whatever I wanted on to his face. If anything he was still probably waiting on an order.

I stood abruptly from the fire. Maybe getting things off my chest wasn't the best idea, especially to someone whom I had forced to be in my company. Alone, away from the fire, I could see Amata clutching to her dead father, and her crying was like swallowing something sharp.

"Mistress."

I turned, and through a faint silhouette from the fire in the short distance, I could make him out standing a few feet away from me. I tried avoiding looking into his eyes, or where I thought his eyes were, and I glanced to the ground. Why did he follow?

"I cannot protect you from harm if you wander off."

Of course. I hesitated "I want to try something that I'm not sure will work."

"Yes, mistress?"

"If you ever have something you want to say, or need to say, or…just…speak your mind. If you can. Hold nothing back. Give the truth."

I felt odd in the silence. I couldn't tell if he was glaring me down, or simply staring. The darkness was too much to see beyond his outline. "Do you want me to take the first shift, or do you want it?"

I was expecting something else, along the lines of "Well, screw this noise," so I was invariably caught off guard. I might have flinched a bit, but he didn't say anything about it. "I will take it, if you don't mind."

His hand stretched out toward me, but I couldn't see all of it. I felt like stepping back, but I searched the dark for his hand, trying to figure out what he was doing. "It's a .44," he explained, "it'll be a little easier to keep watch with."

It was the gun from the raider I had attacked earlier in the day. As soon as I took the gun from his hand he immediately turned and headed for the fire. I hoped no one would chance upon us, I hoped I wouldn't have to use the gun. To murder again…

I stood just beside the fire, opening the chamber for a shot count and checking the mechanics, trying to discern how to use the weapon properly. Charon had spread out across the ground (I noticed just how tall he was laid out like that), and had fallen asleep. Or at least just closed his eyes. He looked like a corpse, lying there; his breathing was very shallow, and his appearance was enough to suggest he was already dead. Of course, I knew better, but I found myself staring at him for a long time, trying to comprehend what I had done. Everything, from when I killed Amata's father to when I bought Charon's contract, even giving him a command like I would a RobCo product.

When I watched him drift into sleep as if it were death, I wondered what it was exactly that I wanted or needed. I turned from the fire, looking into the darkness. There were still no answers in the dark, only more questions.


	4. Ghosts of Slavers Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair run into people from Charon's past. A deal is struck.

The moment the boss told me to stop jerkin' her around, I felt like some sort of cat was batting around a ball of yarn inside my head. I'd never had that order before. I didn't think it could work. Baseline was: be polite, submit to the master, never fail an order. So now things started to unwind, and I felt odd, like a heavy weight just got taken off my back and I could stand tall for the first time in years. She wanted me to be straight with her, and if it had been the first time I'd met her, I woulda let loose. But she had just told me that she killed a couple people she probably didn't need to, and it would have felt like kicking a puppy to tell her off. Besides, after that sob story…well, telling her off didn't feel so "truthful" anymore.

She couldn't have been more than twenty, but she acted like she'd lived her entire life already. Well, yeah, I suppose it had something to do with losing her father and killing her best friend's dad. From the story she was telling I thought she was gonna cry on me, but she'd said everything like it was mildly boring. She was throwing me all sorts of shit, and I wasn't ready enough to catch it all. When she told me to let loose, I felt more free, but at the same time, I didn't. I wouldn't go so far as to say she gave me the creeps; I'm the ghoul, after all, and she was coming on as a pretty open-minded smoothskin. Deep down, I probably wanted to…ugh, comfort her, but I didn't know how. I still wouldn't know how.

I woke up maybe three hours later. I rarely slept, being that I was on constant guard for Ahzrukhal. Fucking dick shouldnt've pissed off so many people if he was that paranoid. I opened my eyes to see the boss standing with her back to me, staring out into the dark. I stood slowly, then walked around the fire toward her. When she didn't turn around, I reached out to tap her on the shoulder. She turned real slow toward me. She'd washed her face and hair while I was out, water gleaming on her cheeks. "Are you sure you've slept enough?" she asked, voice higher than usual.

"Yeah, I'll take over from here."

She slid the gun into her belt, then moved past me toward the other side of the fire. Her arm brushed mine as she walked by, and I felt her recoil. Yeah, well, fuck you, miss prissy, I didn't wanna touch you either. I scowled into the darkness and just hoped some punk ass raider would jump us right now. I had a feeling there wouldn't be any threats, but the moment you let down your guard is the moment you get your ass done in. I heard her settle in the dirt, and I was assuming she'd gone to sleep after five minutes of quiet, but her voice broke through the silence like a hot knife through brahmin butter.

"How did you end up with that contract?"

I guess I got the wrong impression; she actually did like to talk a lot. But I didn't have to tell her dick all anymore. Hah! "You should get some sleep."

"There aren't a lot of details in the agreement," she continued, ignoring my suggestion. I rolled my eyes. "None of them really say anything about you. What happened?"

"I don't know. Now get some rest."

There was a pause. I looked to my side as if I were expecting her to retort and carry it further. I had to suppress a groan when she did. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I don't want to get into that shit right now."

"You can't remember?"

"Look," I said, turning around. I held a finger out towards her like I was chastising some sort of dumb animal, "you don't get to sleep, I'll make you get some sleep."

That was fucking ballsy of me. And I could never actually act on that threat, because there was no way I could ever actually physically harm her, not with the contract in her hands. She didn't seem to care if I'd threatened her or not. Her face didn't change—it was blank as usual. Was she scared off, was she mad, or was she still determined to squeeze a bed time story out of me? "All right," she said pretty quietly, then she turned halfway around, laid back, then rolled onto her side away from me. Okay, so I'm a raging fucking asshole, but I'd be lying if I said I felt better after that.

I groaned out a sigh, turning around again. We were back to back, but I think it was easier to tell her my sob story that way. "You wanna hear this, then?"

I didn't look back, and I didn't hear her shift around towards me, either. "Yes."

"All right, well…I don't remember anything past fifteen years ago. First thing I can remember is being locked up in a slave pen in Paradise Falls with one of those slave collars strapped around my neck. I had a few buddies in there with me, and we were mostly all ghouls, but every time some customer came in, they were always more interested in me. I couldn't tell why. No one ever bought me, though, which I thought was fucking ridiculous. I don't know why I was so interesting. I look like the shitty end of the stick, after all. People kept coming for me, though, and they kept going without me. I wasn't complaining much, I guess; I preferred being a slave in waiting rather than someone's bitch. But I had to be bought out eventually. After most of the other ghouls were sold off, some guy wandered in, asking specifically for me, then bought me before I even saw him. That was Schafer.

"He owned some first-gen Power Armour that had seen some cleaner days. The way he carried himself, I knew he didn't just happen on the suit. He was one of those Brotherhood bastards. Turns out he was an outcast, but I never asked why. Wasn't my place to. Anyway, once we left Paradise Falls, he showed me my contract for the first time. I claimed I knew nothing about it, but once I read it over, I realized I already did know it, like I'd known it my whole life. After he gave me a command, just to test the thing out, we found out that it wasn't just a bunch of bullshit; I couldn't do anything against my orders, or else…I couldn't even tear the paper up, I got so sick. Schafer rarely used it on me again, but he didn't throw it away either. If he did, though, I don't know what I'd do. I had visions of him tossing it over a cliff and me throwing myself after it.

"Anyway, it turns out that he knew about me, said I was some sort of Wasteland legend, and that I was the last of the bunch. I never did ask him much about that, thought it was just crazy talk. Schafer usually did spout out a bunch of crap.

"I went around with him for a couple of months, helping ourselves to scrap we could find in the Wastes and trading it with the caravans. He was a pretty open guy, so I asked him a couple of times why exactly he'd bought me. It's not like he needed help out there. Every time, though, he brushed me off, claiming he just needed the company. I always thought there was more to it than that, but I never found out. We came across Underworld after a while, and he got drunk in the Ninth Circle one night, blathering off how he'd rescued me from the slavers. The fucking idiot went as far as to show the bartender my contract. That was Ahzrukhal, and, well, you knew Ahzrukhal. He killed Schafer in his sleep, then took my contract for himself. So for the past fifteen years, up 'til today, I was in his charge. That little piece of paper…I dunno."

I stopped. Nothing more to add. Except…"Heh…honestly, boss, I just spoke more in the last five minutes than I have since Schafer got himself done in."

Silence filled the gap in between our turned backs. Yeah, uh…that sounds too deep for me, forget I said that. After a while, curiosity got the best of me, and I looked back over my shoulder to see if she'd fallen asleep. I found her propped up on her elbows, staring at me.

I hated smoothskins simply for their attitude, making life more fucking miserable than it already was for ghouls, but the boss wasn't like most smoothskins. I think that's why it was easier to notice how her long blonde hair looked when in fell over her shoulders, how her eyes were so easy to stare into sometimes, and how her pale white skin glowed in firelight. I sound like such a fucking pussy, but really, she was…yeah, fuck it, she was beautiful. Go fuck yourself. I turned back around real quick.

"Charon," she said so quietly, it was almost like a whisper. She didn't say anything else, but I could tell she was trying to be all sympathetic and shit.

"That's all I got, boss," I said, backpedaling for all I was worth. "Now go to sleep."

I think about an hour passed before I decided to shift positions, and I took a peek towards her as I moved past. She'd fallen asleep on her back, like she'd been watching the stars.

*

"Hey, wake up," Charon said, nudging my elbow with a boot. He was standing over me, and I could see the sky tinted light shades of blue, pink, and yellow, acting as a background to his silhouette. "We should get a move on."

I probably had twice as much sleep as he did. That was unusual for me, as I'd come accustomed to functioning on a handful of hours per night. I'd always been on edge, sleeping out in the Wastes with one eye open, but I think knowing I had someone keeping watch put me at far too much ease than it should have.

I took the revolver from my belt and handed it back to Charon. "I don't do well with firearms," I admitted, trying to get him to take it from me.

"You need it more than I do. Keep it as a security blanket, if you want. I'm not taking it back."

I considered ordering him to take it but thought the better of it. Every time I ordered anything I felt deplorable.

I found a place for the gun in the waistband of my khakis and engaged my Pip-Boy. It was a personal bio-powered device that every resident of a Vault wore. It contained vital signs checks, inventory management software, and more importantly for us, a map of roughly a twenty-five mile radius. Megaton was about ten miles west, as the crow flies. It would take the greater part of the day to get there. I planted my marker on the map, and an indicator appeared on the digital compass. We headed out, but he never fell into step next to me. He was always hanging in the rear.

I had a bag of trail mix I had purchased from Carol the morning before I left Underworld. Everything in it was starting to spoil, but it was edible enough. "Are you hungry?" I asked, not looking back.

"No."

I didn't say anything else to him the entire way there.

I heard him mumbling incoherently once in a while, and I discerned it as hopes for an enemy to come by, anything to shoot at. It was a little grim, but I supposed it was his calling in life. After I'd forced him to share his life story with me the night before, I felt like I'd pushed him too far, like he wanted nothing more than to avoid me at any cost. I'd hoped that when I had finished bringing Gob home to Underworld that I could sell the binding slip of paper to another, more benevolent master than Ahzrukhal had been. Perhaps someone that didn't force him to share personal details.

By the time we had reached Megaton, it was past sunset, nearly dark. Deputy Weld, the oddly programmed Protectron, opened the gates for us as we approached. "WELCOME TO MEGATON. THE BOMB IS COMPLETELY SAFE, WE PROMISE."

The engine's roar was like the town itself was a gigantic beast. I think I heard Charon mumble: "I don't like the look of this place," but I couldn't quite hear him. Or maybe that's what I wanted to hear. I didn't take to very many people in Megaton upon my first visit, for most of them were repugnant individuals. Maybe I was too presumptuous, but most of them seemed to be dishonest.

I could just make out the familiar shape of Lucas Simms standing outside his door. He was the sheriff who wished to keep things lawful but was fighting an uphill battle. He was the first person I met outside of Vault 101, and he had set a standard of what I expected of others that was unreasonable.

He gave me a friendly enough wave but I saw his eyes linger on Charon. I suppose the blood-stained leather armour wasn't the most welcoming of sights, but Simms seemed to brush this off, perhaps under the assumption that if Charon was traveling with me, he would behave.

We walked around the top of the crater on the catwalk and passed several of Megaton's finer establishments. When we moved past Craterside Supply, Charon let out a low whistle, cursing under his breath. I followed his gaze to the bomb that sat in the center of the crater down below, well-lit by flood lights, where a few members from the Church of Atom were holding a nighttime sermon.

"It's dormant, but it can still go off," I explained.

His mouth was slightly open as he stared at it before he asked: "What the fuck were these people thinking?"

"They had bravado, and they wanted deterrence, I suppose."

"You wanna say that in English?"

I glanced at him sideways. "The bomb offered protection. There weren't many others willing to bring themselves that close to a live atomic bomb."

"So, this town is full of people out of their fucking tree?"

I smiled briefly, killing it as quick as I could.

We continued up the stairs opposite, climbing the path that led to Moriarty's Saloon, where Gob worked, feeling increasingly nervous. I knew I would be able to handle his carefully chosen words and his manipulating ways without getting lost to vulnerability, but I was worried that if I faltered for even a second, my chances of saving Gob would be lost. My sudden change of heart to helping Carol was odd enough, but my sudden urgency to ensure I did this right was misplaced. It wasn't about Gob—I barely knew him. I just needed to do something right.

Muted chatter and inebriated laughter emanated from the saloon door, and my hand hesitated at the door handle.

"Hey, boss."

I looked at Charon. He didn't want anything, but was giving me a look that said "Just do it."

I pushed through.

The bar was a cesspool of everything distasteful. Dried alcohol gleamed on the floors and tables, the air was heavy from a room too cramped, and the fetor of excessive sex was an oppressive weight. The first time I wandered into Moriarty's, it all had hit me hard, but now it hit me harder.

The bar was full with the same recognizable patrons, but I didn't give so much as a second glance to any of them. Gob was leaning over the counter, pouring a glass of vodka and Nuka-Cola. I felt like I was walking into a trap as I made my to him, except it was one I'd laid myself.

"Gob," I said quietly, as if I were trying to hide something. He looked up at me, giving me an odd look, as if he recognized me, but he wasn't sure who I was.

"Oh," he said, sounding rather unimpressed. "I remember you. Left the Vault up the hill a couple months back, right?"

"Just about," I said sitting down on a stool. Gob slid the glass down the counter to a man in an eye patch, and the man took the beverage with a slow hand, tilting the drink to his lips with careful movements. "I need to talk to Moriarty. Is he around?"

Gob scarcely looked up at me, but shifted his eyes toward the closed door behind him. "He's with Nova."

I looked to the back door, a disgusted, sinking feeling growing in my stomach. "I see," I muttered as Charon took the stool next to me. Gob moved to the radio, turning up the volume slightly, before looking to me. "So, smoothskin, what will it—"

He paused, looking to Charon. Gob didn't have much for skin on his face, but I could see his muscles fall in an expression of shock. I looked to Charon, and he was glowering in return. "You want somethin'?" he asked, resting his fists on the counter in front of him.

"Charon, that's you?" Gob said, leaning on the counter, almost mimicking his stance. "God, I haven't seen you since Paradise Falls. Been about fifteen years, hasn't it?"

I looked between Charon and Gob. Charon's brow (or what was left of it) furrowed. He leaned back. "You know me?"

"You don't remember me?" Gob asked, an odd smile revealing a set of slightly chipped teeth. "You and I were slaves in that God-forsaken hell hole for five years before I was sold. I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

I kept my eyes on the counter in between Gob and Charon. The bartender shifted on his feet, then picked up a glass to busy himself with, wiping it down briefly with his dirty rag. I heard Gob let out a short, weak laugh, which sounded more like a tsk. "You don't remember, do you?"

The door directly behind Gob opened, and Nova stepped out, lighting a cigarette. As soon as the door handle turned, Gob's eyes shot downward, and he grabbed at something else to work on. Moriarty strutted out shortly after Nova, and his eyes immediately fell upon me.

He smiled his calculating smile, nodding his head towards me. "Come back for that information on your dad, yes?" but then his eyes shifted to Charon beside me, and his face fell, like Gob's had. Apparently Charon was more well-known than I'd been led to believe. He stood from the stool, eyeing both Moriarty and Gob down, before he turned to me pointedly.

I looked up at him, and I saw the confusion and the discomfort in his stance, subtle as they were. He wanted out. "Wait outside for me."

He turned from me the moment I stopped talking, and he stalked out of the bar. A few eyes were trained on him as he left, and I didn't blame them; apart from being a ghoul, he was noticeable by his sheer height. I watched him go briefly with the other onlookers before I turned back to Gob and Moriarty. Without him there, I felt like I had willingly discarded my only weapon in the face of a deathclaw.

Gob tried to look busy as he stared after Charon. The moment I heard the front door close behind him, Moriarty's lips turned into a snarl, and he smacked the back of Gob's head. "Why didn't you say that bastard was in the bar?"

Gob had flinched forward from the smack, but he slowly recovered, not so much as touching his hand to the spot. "He just got in, Mister Moriarty."

"Ah, you useless slob," Moriarty grumbled, turning toward me. An eyebrow cocked upward, and his lips reformed into a slight smile. "I suppose you led Charon in here, young lady?"

I stood. "I'd like to have a word with you in private, Moriarty." I did not want to negotiate the terms of Gob's release with the ghoul in question standing right there, like he was chattel. I particularly did not want Gob to be present should my attempts for his barter failed.

I saw the old man's eyes flicker toward the door, then he nodded once towards me. "Certainly. Step into my office."

I felt even more unnerved about isolating myself in Moriarty's personal quarters, but talking in the bar would surely draw dangerous attention. I walked firmly around the counter, meeting Moriarty at the opposite end. He let me in first, then closed the door behind me. Pungent sex robbed me of my breath.

"So, my sweet Star of the Wastes," Moriarty said, walking around me and twisting his computer chair around to face me. He sat down, legs spread and arms folded across himself casually. "You've come to make a deal, I hope?"

"I'm not here to collect information on my father," I said sternly. "I'm here to negotiate Gob's release."

"Hah!" Moriarty unfolded his arms to slap his knee. "I'd expected more from you. You came all the way back here with such valuable merchandise in order to save that sorry sop?"

I looked over him cautiously.

"You don't know?" Moriarty questioned with a sarcastic chuckle. "That ghoul you sauntered in here with just so happens to be the last contracted servant in the Wastes," he explained, motioning with his hands as if beginning on an epic tale of heroism. "Oh so many years ago, that poor soul was brainwashed into serving anyone who held his contract. But I assume you know that already; he wouldn't be following you if you didn't have that paper."

I should have walked out then. But I was blinded by my promise to get Gob out of there quickly and return to finding my father. "Yes," I said quietly, "but we're getting off topic."

"Oh, you think so?" Moriarty said, leaning forward on his knees, "because I think this has everything to do with the topic at hand."

"I want to pay off Gob's debt to you."

"And what's your offer?"

"His debt."

He smiled at me slyly. "I highly doubt you have the caps to pay for that sack of shit," Moriarty said, checking the nails on one of his hands, "but if you're willing to do a trade rather than a purchase, I might be interested."

That look he gave Charon at the bar, I should have known…but I had to dig further, being that Moriarty seemed to know more about Charon's past than the ghoul did himself. "What's your interest in Charon?"

"O—ho, I thought you'd never ask." He stood and slinked towards me. I stepped back but he stepped closer, and instead of letting him corner me I stood my ground. Standing far too close, he folded his hands behind his back and spoke overly-jubilantly.

"I went to purchase a slave for my fine establishment, oh…fifteen years back. I was looking for muscle and service work, see. But all they had were fucking ghouls. Not much use those are, unless you're looking for live target practice. But, caps were tight, and beggars can't be choosers, can they?

"Despite my prejudice against these skinless bastards, one ghoul in the catalogue turned out to be far more interesting than anything else they could have offered me. A contracted servant, absolutely unfaltering to the owner of a little slip of paper. He would've been a perfect addition to my fine establishment, had he not cost a fucking fortune.

"So, the sad tale ends that Moriarty only had enough to pay for lovely little Gob, the sorry little ass. I carted him back home, fuming over the loss of the best commodity I'd ever find. But, my dear, I'm glad to say that I've moved on from the slaving business, and I'll have none of it in my saloon, not over my dead body. However, there's nothing illegal about having a servant who'll be loyal to me for the sake of loyalty, yes?"

"No. I'm not 'trading' Charon for Gob. I'm willing to pay off his debt in exchange for his freedom."

"Ah, well, that's unfortunate," Moriarty said, getting even closer. Our toes were almost touching. "I was really hoping you and I would understand each other's interests." He slung an arm over my shoulder, peering into my face. I could smell the scent of alcohol and Nova on his breath, and I turned my head away from him. "Of course, we could make other arrangements…"

I disentangled from him calmly. "I'm willing to pay caps for Gob."

"Oh, I see," Moriarty said, leaning towards me and folding his hands behind his back. "You have ten thousand caps, do you?"

I wasn't going to let him get to me. "How could anyone possibly find themselves that far in debt to you?"

"Oh, but I've spent plenty of years paying for Gob's food and shelter, and if he isn't a slave, he's a tenant, and he is in a right debt to pay off those services. Not forgetting the amount I paid to extricate him from his slaver's pen."

"Five thousand."

He smirked. "Ten."

"Six."

"You touched? Ten." He'd long since dropped the friendly tone.

I had no advantage here. He had eyes only for Charon.

Ten thousand caps. Even if I did have all the caps to set Gob free, I had the sneaking suspicion that Moriarty would never let Charon's appearance leave his mind. He would steal from me, scheme me, cheat us until he had what he wanted. He would haunt me as long as I had Charon in my company and prise the contract from my cold dead hands.

"My offer still stands," Moriarty said quietly. "I'm willing to trade Charon and his contract for Gob, straight across, no strings attached."

I should have known I would be too far over my head when I agreed to Carol's proposal, I should have known to back out of that bar the moment Moriarty's evil eyes locked onto Charon. I should have known.

*

"Charon," I said quietly. He was leaning up against the outside of Moriarty's Saloon casually, looking grim, or I suppose in his words, "Pissed."

He looked down at me, unfolded his arms and stood tall. "So?" he said, stepping toward me.

At that moment, Moriarty stepped out of the bar behind me, and I couldn't bring myself to look Charon in the eye.

"Well, you must be Charon," Moriarty chimed cheerfully. He pronounced it like "Sharon." "Glad to have you on the team."

I didn't look up at Charon, but I knew his eyes were shifting between me and Moriarty. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Ah-ah," Moriarty chided, shaking a finger at Charon, "there'll be none of that language."

"Look, asshole, I—"

Moriarty lifted the contract.

"I'll be going by master, not 'asshole'," Moriarty said sternly. "Now, get inside. I want you to keep watch over the customers until I say otherwise."

"Yes, master."

I can't quite accurately describe how I felt to hear those words. Heavy. Too much weight to bear.

As Charon started after Moriarty into the bar, I looked up into his eyes, but he did not look at me. His eyes were straight ahead, as if I actually wasn't there at all. I turned on my heel to watch him go and the door closed swiftly behind him, but it slammed inside my head. I was going to turn and leave, having forgotten my purpose there, when I heard a bottle break inside and someone give a shout of surprise.

The door banged back open, and I heard Nova shout "Gob!" before the ghoul was shoved bodily from the bar with a sack in his hand, and the door swung shut once again. He looked at the door with the most shocked expression. Either he was elated to be free, or he was still trying to piece together what had happened to him. I thought he would be pleased. I thought he'd ask me if I'd saved him.

"Gob?"

He looked over at me, searching me top to bottom with the same bewildered look on his face. "Did you trade Charon for me?"

"Yes. Carol sent me to take you home." I managed to say this around the lump in my throat.

His eyes flashed, but the look died away quickly. "Oh."

I sighed heavily, shuffling my feet towards the ramp that led down. "We can make camp just outside the walls, and head out at daybreak."

He looked towards the bar door again, a sense of longing hanging on his features. "Yeah."

As I started off towards the exit of Megaton, I heard Gob's heavy steps follow behind me. Charon, I have wronged you, I thought. I'm sorry.


	5. Reclimation/Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon begrudges his new work. An unlikely rescue mission ensues.

I'm telling you, this shit comes right out of her sleeve. How was I supposed to know she'd pull a stunt like that? I wasn't pissed. I was outright fucking furious. Sure, I'm just a piece of merchandise, and she was only having me along to shoot off the bad guys, but at this point I was expecting more of her than to trade me off to this sorry sop of a bastard Moriarty. One asshole to the next, I guess. What's another fifteen years of servitude?

On the upside, this greasy rat seemed to know about my past. Maybe he'd let me in on the story if I was patient enough. Nah, who'm I kidding? I was doing the exact same shit in Moriarty's that I was doing in the Ninth Circle: standing in the corner, waiting to blow some jack ass's face off.

Smoothskins were even worse when it came to their alcohol. I remember ghouls being able to slam a few beers before feeling a buzz at the Ninth Circle. I remember Ahzrukhal mentioning he liked it that way; it made him more money. But these shit buckets were rowdier than fuck, howling and spilling their shit everywhere. I was starting to miss Ahzrukhal when I saw some armoured ass grab for the bar's whore, making her stumble and knock over some bottles.

"Hey, Nova, I think I wanna show you a good time—"

"Get off, Jericho!" She yanked herself away from the bastard.

"Who's to say I ain't buyin'?" Jericho stood and towered over her. Silence swept the bar and I flicked my eyes over to Moriarty. He was leaning in to some chatty guy in a eye patch, but his eyes were trained on the staring match. Eventually, he looked to me, and with a shit eating grin, he tilted his head toward them.

Fucker.

"You know, I could take you outta this place," Jericho mumbled under his breath as he reached for her again.

"Get off, Jericho!"

My hand came down heavy on his shoulder, and I spun him around. He was a relatively short guy (by relatively, I mean to me, but everyone was generally shorter than me) but he peered up at me, his nose crinkling up and his eyes narrowing a little too much. "Yeah? You want somethin'?"

"Get out."

He looked me up and down. "So, you're Gob's replacement, eh?" he said, letting go of Nova. She made a show of tearing herself away, but she stood on the spot, watching. I noticed the guy's voice was almost as raspy as mine, and I entertained the idea of what he'd sound like as a ghoul. It was an amusing thought, but he cut me off. "Carry your weight a lot better than he does, huh? You both look like shit, though."

"Jericho," Nova growled threateningly, and his face screwed up in annoyance.

"Shut the fuck up a second, will ya?" he said, lifting a hand up to put her off. His body shifted slightly from me, and his attention was elsewhere, so I lunged out, grabbing the scruff of his shirt that peeked out over his armour, pulling him close. He stumbled forward a bit, caught off guard, and his face was momentarily blank.

"Get. Out."

I think it took him a bit to work this through, 'cause a few seconds passed before he struggled from my grasp. He pulled his armour straight, then stretched his neck a bit. I was pretty sure he was gonna try to start something, the slick little fuck. He started strolling past me all casual like, then he threw a jab. I grabbed his fist, twisted his arm around and aimed him toward the bar's door, then kicked him by the ass into it.

He smacked against the door and recovered as fast as he could to maintain what scraps of dignity he had left. After a second, he tore the door open then stormed out. I suppose he wasn't used to being made a fool in front of a bunch of sorry assholes. I might've felt bad for him in any other case. Nah, who'm I kidding? I could give two shits about that guy, I could give two shits about anybody. Not anybody, not anymore.

The chatting started up again after a pause, and Moriarty's business was set straight again. "Hey, thanks, sugar," Nova said behind me, lighting up a cigarette and stepping to my side, "I owe you one."

"I didn't do anything for you," I grumbled without looking at her, making my way back to my miserable post by the door.

"No," she mumbled disdainfully, and I could hear her breathe out the smoke slowly, "I guess you didn't."

I was going to hate this place a lot faster than I'd hate the Ninth Circle. When I stood with my back to the wall again, my eyes landed on Moriarty, and I could see him give me some sort of smirk.

I shifted my eyes over his shoulder.

After a few hours (I think, I wasn't keeping track) a better portion of the bar cleared out for the night, and it looked like things were wrapping up. Moriarty caught my glance again, waving his hand for me to come over. I sidestepped around some schmuck that collapsed on the ground from too much booze. "Charon, do me a favour and clear out the rest of the customers, will you? It's time to close up."

"As you wish," I muttered. The moment Moriarty said this to me, a few people around the bar stumbled to the door. I turned to the first table, tapping the guy on the shoulder rather bluntly. Like all the other plastered idiots, his movements were slow and slurred as he threw his head up from the table to look at me. He mumbled something incoherent, but I only growled in response, pointing a finger towards the door. Some of the others were easier to persuade, others I had to drag, but eventually the bar was clear. I could feel Nova watching me the entire time, with some sort of contempt drawn on her face. Whatever, it's not my fault her ghoul buddy got traded for me. I was probably just as bitter as she was about me being there. When I threw down the lock on the door, it was just the three of us, and I could hear Moriarty begin to count his caps.

"Nova, be a dear and hand over your tips, would you?"

I noticed she was watching me when she went toward the counter to put down her handful of caps. The fuck was her problem? She was starting to bug me more than the boss had. We stood around, watching Moriarty count his caps. He finally swept the rest into the cash register again, then slapped his hands together, like he was trying to brush off the dust from a long, hard day's work. The prick.

"Well, it's going to be a little more quiet without Gob around, eh, Nova?" She didn't reply to him. He looked over to me, nodding his head. "Since there aren't any guests in the rooms tonight, you can have the night to yourself. You can have Gob's old room—last room at the end of the hall."

"Thank you, master." Ah, fuck. I was starting to like "Mistress" ten times more than I should have.

"And Nova, get a good night's sleep. Wouldn't want you tuckered out for work tomorrow, would we?"

"'Night, Moriarty," she droned, and started up the stairs. I followed in step behind her, and as I climbed the fourth step, Moriarty waved me down.

"Oh, and if you hear anything during the night, come down and check it out, yes? You see anybody besides me rifling through that cash register, don't hesitate to blow their fucking brain across the floor."

"Yes, master."

"You're a good lad," Moriarty said, throwing a hand over his head as he retreated behind the counter. "G'night."

Fuck, he didn't just say that to me, did he? Christ…

At the top of the stairs, Nova motioned lamely over to the room at the far back. "That's yours, now."

I went for it.

"You could at least say thank you."

"Fuck off."

I guess I kind of slammed the door a little too hard, but I didn't care so much, as long as it was okay with Moriarty. Man, I hated myself, this pitiful existence—as long as it was okay with Moriarty. The boss had shown me what it was to be myself for the first time in years, and to have a taste of freedom before being shoved back into my cage made me ten times more furious.

I rubbed a hand over my head, ruffling the bits of hair that were left, and I turned to face the room. It was small, dismal, and dingy—an obvious home of a ghoul.

I took my shotgun off my back, propping it up on the wall next to the dirty, ruined mattress. I started unclipping the straps to my breast plates and shoulder guards. When I slept (which was rare to begin with) I usually wore my it. Being in what was practically an iron fortress and having had a shitty fucking day, I needed to shed the extra weight where I could. I'd moved up in the world from Underworld to Megaton, but I really hadn't progressed any. Still in the same stinking shit position. Fucking boss.

I laid back but trying to get some sleep when the opportunity was handed to you on a fucking silver platter was like trying to be happy about getting sold to a better slaver. Even though I'd just decided I'd best move on quick, she was kind of stuck in my head. Remembering I was absolutely pissed at her for trading me off so fast helped me put her out of my train of thought. Okay, sure, we weren't the best of buddies, and her sole purpose of taking me along was to help Gob out of his predicament, but man, did she have to be a cunt about it?

Some thoughts ran through my head, if you want to call it dreaming. I thought of how Gob and Moriarty looked at me, like they'd known me my whole life, and how much I hated not having the advantage in any situation. But I could see her more clearly than the others, all those faces she'd shown me that seemed so stoic, even when she was figuratively shitting her pants. It was her face the last time I saw her, that time when she didn't have the fucking guts to look me in the eye when she kicked me to the curb, that I saw the most. That moment…no, fuck it.

So, ah…there's a first for everything, all right? So fuck you before you get any notions. The moment I felt someone's hand come close to my neck I whipped the shotgun from the side of the bed and pointed it in the intruder's face. I was expecting to see Nova, come to kill me in my sleep or something, but it wasn't. At the end of my barrel was the boss's face.

My finger was on the trigger. I would have shot her there and then, but thankfully Moriarty's orders were too specific; I was only to shoot thieves, not intruders. If I had taken the liberty in killing her he might not approve, wanting to take care of her himself or something. But I didn't lower my gun either. I just held her eyes for too long with my shotgun in between us. Know what a look of surprise is on a girl like her? The same look she might have for something mildly interesting. She was sitting on the mattress next to me—she probably fell on it when I aimed my barrel in her face—and her hand had fallen on my chest for balance. "I'm sorry," she breathed.

I pumped the barrel. "Get out, or I'll bring you to my master."

Then—Jesus Christ, what a brave little bitch—she raised her hand raised slowly, and I could see the yellowed piece of paper clutched gently in her hand. She had my contract. She had my contract.

I lowered my shotgun immediately, then sat up in the bed, letting her hand slip away. The reset button was hit again, but this time…I dunno, maybe it'd been too soon since she'd last been my mistress, but I felt myself open up again like a floodgate. "Boss, what the fuck—"

"It was the only way, but I am sorry," she said again, keeping her voice real low. "I need you to escort me out of Megaton now, as quickly and quietly as possible."

I got up before she finished speaking. I'd left my armour plates on the floor, and I started clipping them on again. I'm pretty sure I was grinning when I replied, "My pleasure."

*

We were about a mile out from Megaton, setting up camp, when I stopped in my task. Gob had been more silent than Charon, if that were even possible. I was looking out over the horizon for a while, trying to sort out what I was thinking, what I was doing. What have I done?

"Smoothskin?" Gob grumbled, but I didn't acknowledge him. I didn't think I could at that moment. "Hey, kid…I appreciate you comin' to save my hide an' all," he said, and I could hear his feet shift in the dirt, "but…you're not gonna leave him there, are you? Charon, I mean."

"I'm not sure."

"Listen, Charon, he…you can't leave him with Moriarty, it's not fair. I don't know how you ended up with him, but I'm not worth the trade. Really, can't we just go back?"

I turned to look at Gob. "What do you mean? You want to stay in Megaton? You don't want to go back to Carol?"

"Well…don't get me wrong, I miss her a lot," Gob said, wringing his hands. I supposed he wasn't used to people keeping direct eye contact with him for so long. "But Charon's different. Sure, he's a tougher guy than I am, and he can make it, but you pretty much threw him in the garbage back there. You can't…you shouldn't just leave him to Moriarty like that. It's not a good life."

I closed my eyes as if he had struck me. "I didn't know about Charon's past and Moriarty wouldn't let it go. I had no other choice."

"A ghoul for a ghoul doesn't sound like much, I know," Gob muttered, and I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me short, "but despite what you may think, Charon's got it worse than anyone out in the Wastes. The fact that he had no choice in you swapping us should say a lot to that."

I stared at him. How far I was willing to go to find my father and how far I went for a mother and son…I claimed to be above the worst the Wasteland had to offer, but I was rolling around in the dirt with the worst of them, trading slaves and condemning lives.

Gob was shuffling even more now. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't say that." There was no need for others to be sorry for my actions. I had to be. "There's no way I'll be able to get him back now. Moriarty doesn't seem willing to part with his new-found prized possession."

Gob's voice raised a few notches, as if he'd just caught a ray of hope somewhere. "Hey, you ever listen to Galaxy News Radio?"

I was puzzled; this change in topic seemed hardly appropriate. "Why?"

"You ever hear those episodes of Herbert 'Daring' Dashwood and Argyle?"

I must have been showing the utmost perplexed expression on my face, because Gob seemed to squirm under my eyes. "What?"

"I'm just saying…we could go back in at night and sneak him out, like Dashwood and Argyle would've done."

I knew that Gob was passionate about the radio the first time I'd seen him; he was banging on it insistently, cursing it to work, hoping the signal would come back to life if only he hit a bit harder this time. It had been constantly fuzzy for the past few months, and it continued to be so, but Gob would still listen for the DJ, Three Dog, through the white noise, hoping for those inspirational messages about fighting the Good Fight.

I couldn't entertain a fantasy like him. "We're not a radio program. This isn't a dramatic story of heroism."

He waved his arms at me. "You're not exactly the picture of a helpless bystander. You're the go-getter. You risked your neck for me and Carol. Why not for him? You know him better than you know me, anyway."

"Between the two of us? We don't stand a chance against that town if even one of them takes up arms against us. I risked all of this to get you home safely. You can't expect me to willingly jeopardize you after that."

God wrung his hands some more but had no further arguments on the subject. I turned back to my fire pit to finish what I started, but found I couldn't. What a mess I'd made.

"We go from here to D.C. without protection? That's just asking for jeopardy."

I contemplated his words while staring at my horrible craftsmanship.

"I know you came all the way here to take me home, but I ain't leaving with you, not with an old pal stuck back there. I'm going back for him, with or without you."

I didn't know much about Gob, but what little I did know did not leave room for bravery like this. This time when I stared at him, he didn't flinch or fidget. He puffed out his chest, even. What was left of his skin was flushed. "So. You comin'?"

Even though I felt the need to deny it, I knew Gob was right, and I knew that I agreed with him all along. I couldn't leave Charon behind, not because it was morally corrupt, but because I realized I couldn't go on without him there with me. I was concerned about security in the Wastes…but I was also concerned about a friend. Although I was certain I wasn't considered a friend in his eyes. The disdain he held for me was fairly plain. I had bought him because I could not go it alone. And I supposed I cared more for his well-being than I was ever going to admit.

"Suppose I go with you, Gob. How do you propose we go about rescuing him from Moriarty?"

"Ah, well…" He glanced back at Megaton, bravado deflating. "I was hoping you had some ideas."

I watched him look after the town, the small patches of hair on his head blowing around in the wind. We were so helpless, dreaming of things too far out of reach, knowing there was no way to achieve our goals, realizing how small we were.

Well, we had to start somewhere if we were serious about doing this. "Gob, is there a safe where Moriarty stores his valuables?"

He pondered it for a while. "Yeah, the wardrobe in his room. Or at least, last time I checked, that's what it was for."

"He'd likely have it locked, then."

"Yeah."

"So we have to get into that wardrobe when he's indisposed."

"Whoa, whoa," Gob said, holding his hands up. "Going into that wardrobe is like walking into the yao guai's jaws."

"What else are we to do?" I replied with a little annoyance. "You were the one who brought this up, and if we're to get Charon back, the first thing we're going to need is his contract. If Moriarty is as serious as he seems to be about Charon, then that contract is going to be in that wardrobe. Now, how am I going to get into it without being noticed?"

Gob grimaced. "Ah, I dunno…doing it at peak hours."

I didn't expect that. "When the bar is full of eyewitnesses?"

"No. When the bar is full of money making potential. Moriarty's always on the floor when the bar is full. His room is behind it by the back door. We can go in there."

I was impressed. If I didn't have Gob with me? My methods would have likely gotten me killed. "Right. When are peak hours?"

"Between ten and one."

Now we had a way in…"Are you skilled in picking locks?"

"Eh…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I suppose I could be if I needed to."

"I may need you too."

"I was afraid you'd say that."

"After that speech you made earlier? You aren't afraid. You're being cautious. And that's good. Caution keeps you alive. We can't do this by force but we can do this covertly."

His shoulders squared off again and a goofy grin was trying to break across his face. "Yeah. Yeah, I can go pick the lock. You can count on me."

"Good. We'll have to steal the contract during those peak hours but get to Charon once the bar is closed. Is there a vantage point where we can see into the bar without being seen?"

"Hm. We might be able to see them between this slat on the east side. It's always jigging loose. Never could get it fixed."

"All right. We'll keep watch by the back door. When there's a thorough enough distraction on the bar floor, we'll make our move. And there will be a distraction. I'm sure Moriarty won't waist time trying out his new…employee." I was going to use the word "toy," but it made me feel I'd stooped to a lower level.

"Hold on," Gob said, giving me a concerned look, "what if Charon gets in our way? If Charon sees you trying to steal from Moriarty, he won't so much as blink before he blows your brains over the wall."

I nodded. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

*

Peak hours started early. From the town entrance we could hear the roaring and screeching laughter from the saloon across the way. Many others had retired for the night and we had free passage to Moriarty's unseen. We rounded the building to the gap in the slats. Though the peephole was limiting, I could see Moriarty behind his bar and Charon at the front door quite clearly. To see him as a sentry in someone else's employ made something cold and hard settle in my stomach. I should not have kept him as a slave. I should not have let someone else keep him as one. I should not get to take him back, but I should not be allowed to leave him. I felt more the monster than people thought he was.

Gob tapped my shoulder. "Let me use your knife as a torque."

I handed it over and stood by, watching Gob fit the tip of the knife into the lock and slipped something skinny inside on top of it, twisting it gently, using more finesse than I possessed. I frequently threw a glance over my shoulder, worried that someone would chance by us while we loitered suspiciously in an alley. After a long, hard, drawn out minute, the lock clicked tenderly, and the door slowly tilted open, light and laughter spilling through the crack. Gob looked at me with a triumphant grin, and whispered: "I've always wanted to do something like this."

I went back to the peephole to watch. Nova was sauntering around the floor, casually leaving drinks for patrons at their tables. When she passed another table a man grabbed for her and pulled her onto his lap, drawing raucous laughter from around the bar. She struggled to free herself, but the man seemed persistent. I watched Charon and Moriarty like I was watching a pendulum swing. Moriarty inclined his head to Charon, and Charon moved in. Just watching him approach someone else made my pulse quicken and my chest constrict.

"Now," I muttered to Gob. This could be our only moment.

He opened the door slowly, and he started in, holding a hand out behind him towards me. "Make a noise if it breaks up before I'm back," he whispered.

I knew I could trust Gob, but it was me who wanted to go through with this plan and me who should take the fall should we be spotted. Not having control in the situation frightened me. If I wasn't on the front lines I felt I was powerless to ensuring success. I would not save Gob just to risk his life and undo the stupid decisions I'd made. Of course, I wouldn't know how to pick locks if I needed to get that contract back, so I would only be a useless body if I did advance. Beyond that, a few scenarios developed in my mind; what if the contract wasn't in the cabinet, but on Moriarty himself? What if we were caught? I had a feeling Moriarty wouldn't just give us the kindness of a quick death. And he would make Charon do it.

The drunk took a swing at Charon and Charon swung him into the front door with a swift kick to his backside. I darted my eyes between him and Moriarty. Don't break this up so quickly, I thought. We needed a few minutes more to be safe. But the drunk tried to collect what little dignity he had left and then stormed out of the saloon.

I tried to steady myself, exhaling deeply. They were still preoccupied, I did not need to sound the alarm yet. This was no time to lose my nerves. I never lost my nerves, anyway; I am a cool, calm, collective individual, capable of rational thought and—

Almost as quickly as he'd left, Gob slipped back through the door, closing it gently behind him. I looked upon him eagerly, waiting for an answer. It was hard to see his face in the dark, but I could just make out that smile, and I could feel my heart jump as he lifted the contract in between us.

Even after all of those happy years with my father, I could only recall smiling like this a handful of times. Why was I so moved by this moment? Getting Charon's contract back into my possession was important to me…but was it this important?

"I learned really quick how to sneak around and not get caught in this place," Gob explained. He let me tuck the contract into the gap between my wrist and the Pip-Boy for safe keeping. "Moriarty usually closes up around two. It'll be best to wait back here where we won't be seen until three."

"How did you ever end up here? You were simply born for adventure, weren't you?"

"I like to think so," he said with a crooked smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

Once again, we hid in wait for the late hours of the night, and even though half of the trial had been overcome, I still felt uneasy, on edge, impatient. Seeing Charon's contract was a burst of joy that was doused quickly in light of the task ahead. I had to plan how I was going to approach him and sneak him out without drawing notice, but I found myself childishly thinking about the words I wanted to say to him once we were face to face. I'd only known him for a few moments, essentially, and we exchanged very few words, but I still found the need burning at the back of my mind to redeem myself. To have him in my company again. I couldn't lie; this was partly about me proving I was the better person. But I needed to know I he was done right by.

Quite abruptly, the noise died down in the bar. There was the clink of caps being tossed into a register, then the chime of it being closed and locked. We would have to wait until Moriarty was asleep before sneaking past him into the bar. I wasn't certain if Moriarty would send Charon to bed or make him keep watch over the bar during the night, but I was prepared for the latter. If Charon so happened to kill me before I could declare my heroism, then so be it. I would rather die by his hand than by Moriarty's. It was grim, but I found myself putting very little worry to the whole thing. I waited with Gob for another painful hour, while his ear was pressed to the door. "I think this is it…well, here's the hard part."

I nodded. "Gob, where would Charon be if he's not on duty?"

"Probably in my old room," Gob said quietly, pointing up, "on the second floor at the back."

"Thank you, Gob." I paused, mentally preparing myself. Odd, how possibly facing death now only felt like preparing for a job interview. "Gob…I want you to meet me outside of Megaton. I'll go in after Charon myself. If you suspect I've failed…just go. Try to make it back to Carol. For me."

He looked like he was going to argue, but he seemed to decide otherwise. He nodded quickly. "Good luck."

"I want you to take these as well." I pulled the revolver from my waistband. "Guns are not my forte, and I can't leave you out here knowing you have no way to defend yourself."

He looked at the gun as if I had just suggested he do something obscene with it. I wasn't about to leave without him taking the gun, so I continued in a hushed, forceful voice: "There's only four rounds in it, so use it only as a last resort." I said the statement as a demand for him to take it, not an explanation.

He took the weapon from me and held it distastefully. "If it'll make you feel better."

"Much better." Then I took off my large backpack and handed it over to him. "Carol's life savings. For your debts."

He clasped the arm straps as if holding a picture of her and remembering a fond memory. "Thanks," he said very softly.

I gripped the door handle tightly. "Gob, I mean it; if you think I'm dead, run for Underworld, try to make it home."

"As long as you promise you'll make and effort not to get yourself killed."

I felt the slightest layer of sweat form on my palms. I opened the door with a trembling hand.

All lights were off, making it darker inside than out. Faint snoring came from Moriarty's room. I couldn't hear anything else. Charon was not in sight.

With careful gestures, I closed the door behind me, catching Gob's eye for one last moment before he was shut out from me. I crept around Moriarty's room and up the stairs, taking each step carefully as if on thin, cracked glass. I'd removed the contract from the gap in my Pip-Boy and clutched it tightly in my sweaty hand. The threat of death could rain down on me from Charon at any moment.

When I got to the top, I followed the hall all the way to the back. All but two of the doors were closed, including the one in the far corner. I tried not to get ahead of myself, and I forced my feet to keep a slow pace as I approached the door. I had to breathe deeply before I could grab the door handle. He would more likely than not shoot me before he even saw me, but for some reason, I didn't want to hold the contract up like a paper shield, where he would see it immediately and stand down. I think it was perhaps that I didn't want him not to kill me simply because I had that paper. I didn't want him to kill me simply for fact that it was me.

I pushed the door open slowly, but not as slowly as I had Moriarty's door. There was just enough light to see his silhouette lying across the bed. Was he asleep? I thought it impossible, but when he didn't get up after I had opened the door, I stepped forward anxiously. Parts of his armour lay on the floor and his shotgun was propped up on the wall next to the decades-old bed. He was unguarded. I approached the bed, more on edge than I had been all night.

I had to take a few calming breaths before I could speak. "Charon."

He did not wake, so I reached down to touch his shoulder gently. I knew that was like reaching into a fire ant nest. It was a risk I wanted to take. "Charon," I whispered again as I got closer.

Too fast for me to comprehend, Charon's shotgun was no longer against the wall by the bed, but pointed in between my eyes. I fell, catching myself on his chest and turning to stone there. I could see his hollow eyes staring at me from down the gun. He did not fire.

Of course, all the things I'd spent hours thinking up to say to him vanished. I was left with: "Charon, I'm sorry."

He pumped the gauge. "Get out, or I'll bring you to my master."

I hated to hear those words, though I knew he was bound to say them. I couldn't tell if his true actions were hesitant, or if he couldn't wait to kill me, but at that moment, I'd hoped that he found it regretful, at least unfortunate that he would have to kill me. I could feel his heartbeat beneath my hand, and it was quick, warm, different. I'd only hugged my father a handful of times in my life. This, right now, staring down a barrel, was the closest I'd been to anyone besides that. When I had accidentally brushed up against Charon the night before, I felt like I had been singed. It wasn't that I was repulsed by the idea of touching him. Now I was on fire and I was torn between keeping very still and repairing personal space. Yes, looking back, I find it very strange that this is what I was preoccupied with with a barrel in my face. I think it's because I already knew he wasn't going to kill me, not if he hadn't done it already.

So, without sudden movements, I lifted the contract. He withdrew and sat up. That was all it took. Charon was under my employment again, as awful as that sounded, and I was that much closer to saving him, saving me. The stony mask he'd worn broke apart in to pieces and he stared at me incredulously. "Boss, what the fuck—"

"It was the only way, but I'm sorry." I'd had a more eloquent speech planned earlier, but given our predicament, it was more than enough. "I need you to escort me out of Megaton now, as quickly and quietly as possible."

He slipped past me quickly, leaving me sitting on the bed as he silently put on his armour. His back was to me, but I could hear the excessive pleasure in his voice when he muttered, "My pleasure."

He quickly donned his armour then ensured his gun was fully loaded before he walked briskly and quietly into the hall. I followed after him with careful footing, making sure to keep quiet as we made our way towards the front door. Walking down the steps had proven to be difficult; the steel slats were unstable, and stepping on them caused a louder disruption than I would have liked. Charon was like a predator, moving swiftly and quietly through the dark, and I had to put forth my best efforts to keep up after him with an equal silence. For a big man, he was as quiet as a breeze.

When we got to the front door, I heard Charon start to throw the lock upwards, but I could just hear something else from under it too. I looked back and caught the gleam of a ten millimeter poking out from Moriarty's door behind the bar.

I barely had time to process what I had just seen when I bounded forward, swiping an empty bottle off a nearby table, and hurled it at him. I heard Charon open the front door and pause as the bottle flew through the air. There was a blur as Moriarty dodged behind the corner and the bottle shattered on the wall, louder than I thought it should have been. Charon grabbed me forcefully by the arm and dragged me out. We had been caught. We were doomed.

Charon slammed the door closed behind us, and he released my arm to raise his gun. As we ran along the ramp, a bullet flew past our heads, and I ducked in response. Charon fired back, keeping pace behind me while walking backwards, eyes on the saloon. "Keep moving," he told me, and I did. When we got closer the exit, however, more people started to emerge from their homes to investigate the gunfire, blocking the way. Moriarty kept spraying bullets at us and Charon returned careful fire. As more people gathered, Moriarty shouted: "I'll fucking hunt you down!"

Walter, the man who ran the water processing plant, emerged from his doorway just as we ran by. Too close. Instincts kicked in and I lunged, taking him down hard. He landed heavily on the ramp with a shout of surprise, and I could see his eyes wide with fear in the faint moonlight. Charon grabbed hold of my collar and threw me forwards again.

We had a clear shot for the gate. We took it in a sprint and tore through. I could see Gob standing just before the maze of outcrops that separated Megaton from Springvale, and I let out an exasperated cry. "Gob!" I called, and I could see him shift his hands nervously, the glint of the revolver catching my eye. He was prepared to use it, but I knew he didn't want to. As we neared him, he started into a run in the direction we were heading, and one last bullet flew over our heads as we slipped away into the Wastes.

"You're a fucking dead man!" Moriarty screamed after us. It echoed once, hollow, then was swallowed whole by the vast desert.


	6. The Altruistic Heuristic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two ghouls and a smoothskin head for Underworld, but are set upon on the road.

The boards were tough for being a couple centuries old, but after a few forceful blows, they fell apart like ash.

"Come on," I grunted, letting the boss run in first, then Gob after her. I told her that we should hole ourselves up in some sorta safe house for the remainder of night when it didn't look like they were coming after us. She was so exhausted she didn't even give me a full nod. We were slightly north of the Springvale ruins, and a lone house stood boarded up alongside the crumbled road. It would do.

When we got in, I could smell old death and rot. I may not have had a nose, but all ghouls still had a lingering sense of smell. It didn't bother me much. It smelled a bit like Underworld, actually. Most things did. I wondered how the boss would handle it, but she didn't seem to care.

All the windows were still boarded up so next to no moonlight was getting in there. The boss turned on a light function on her Pip-Boy and lit up the room. A couple of skeletons were piled in the corner. She pressed her back against the wall next to them and slid down slow. We were all panting, me and Gob like dogs. Since we had almost no sweat glands left, our body cooled down like an animal would, except we didn't let our tongues hang out our mouths. That'd only add to our already fucked up existence.

She hung head with her eyes closed, as if she was trying to collect herself. When she looked up at me her Pip-Boy cast an underlight over her face, and her eyes had a gleam to them like some sort of nocturnal predator. It would've looked fucking creepy if she didn't have this look of utter relief on her face. We made it out with our skin on our backs. Well, in her case, anyway.

I wanted to kibosh the staring match we had going on, so I said, "Do you want me to keep watch?"

"I would appreciate that." I slid into the shadows by the door so that I could see any threats coming before they could see me. And hide from her. I didn't want her looking at me all the time like that.

I drifted off in thought for, oh I dunno…an hour, at least. I was completely absorbed with the obsession of surveillance. But I suppose what I really couldn't stop thinking about was that she had my contract again. I only knew her for two days, but those two days were far more liberating than the fifteen years I had with Ahzrukhal. After I started to think of Moriarty's Saloon as my new home in the short few hours I'd been there, it made standing guard in that musty little shack feel like a fucking castle.

I heard footsteps behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder. It wasn't the boss; the steps were too heavy, and I could see her slumped against the wall, out cold. Gob came edging out of the dark, looking me up and down like I was a hungry animal that'd pounce on him if he got any closer. We looked a lot alike, being ghouls, but we were opposites. You could smell the vulnerability that rolled off of him. Maybe it was years of being a slave that bogged him down, but despite that I could already tell he was gonna annoy the fuck outta me. "Yeah?" I growled, keeping my voice down.

"How much do you remember about fifteen years ago?" he whispered back.

That's right. I almost forgot that weird way he stared at me in the bar, the uneasiness I felt at not being able to recall anything when he seemed to know so much about me. I think I was giving him the iciest fucking glare I could, because he seemed to fidget when I didn't respond. "Nothing," I said, quiet-like, trying to put him at ease so he'd stop doing that stupid little shuffle of his.

"I wasn't sure if you would," he said, stepping up next to me and shooting a glance towards the boss, maybe to check his volume, make sure she was actually out. He avoided my eyes when he finally added: "I honestly didn't think you survived the beating."

I obviously perked up at this, but I didn't say anything. I wanted to appear uninterested. Besides, I had no orders on how to treat Gob after we got out of Megaton, despite the fact I knew she'd want me to treat him with "respect" or some bullshit like that. I wanted to know more, but at the same time, I really didn't. "Maybe you should get some rest," I suggested, which really translated into "Get the fuck out of my face."

Gob shuffled. Fuuuck, I was really starting to hate that. "You're different, you know. I mean, back then, you were pretty closed off and obedient like you are now, but the actual you, this ghoul that hates everything, didn't exist. You seemed…nice sometimes, back then."

I still didn't say anything but I worked my jaw. "Like that," Gob said, and I had to suppress a snarl. "Back then, you wouldn't even think of showing your aggravation. You didn't even seem human, it was like you were an actual robot or something. There was no personality to you, you were just some sort of…tool."

I am a tool. I'm fully aware of that. What was this guy playing at? "Listen, I've got no orders to show restraint to you, so either wise up or I'll send you on your way."

I was expecting his feet to shuffle again, but he didn't move. He looked up at me with his filmy eyes before he shook his head. "If you didn't want to talk, you could've just said so."

I hated talking with people. "Get some sleep."

He turned away from me. I really wasn't starting to like this guy, and I sure as hell didn't want to talk to him, but dammit, he'd gone kicking around inside my head and I couldn't quash him. I felt this unfamiliar curiosity start to build. What the hell? I was never curious, I only cared about what my orders were and what I had to be doing next. I would be lying if I said I wasn't interested in my past, but I was. I wasn't about to break down and ask Gob about it, though.

I'd give them a few more hours of sleep before we started moving again. The sooner we made it back to Underworld, the sooner we could drop Gob off and put it all behind us. Well, us as in me, I suppose. I wasn't sure on the boss's feelings. In fact, I wasn't sure if she'd keep me around at all. Maybe she'd drop my contract off with someone else and leave me there. I thought I didn't care. I'd be stable as long as I knew who my master was and what his orders were, but I could remember the brief flicker of betrayal that went through me when I saw Moriarty holding up that contract. Shit, I was actually liking my mistress. It shouldn't have been a bad thing, but if she did trade me off again like some sort of pre-war baseball card…ah, forget about it.

After the sun had been up for a few hours, I turned from the doorway to face the ruined house. Gob was lying down on the bed in the far corner, looking just as dead as the pile of bones in the corner. Direct sunlight fell from the doorway onto the boss. She was leaning against the old couch next to her, curled up in a ball. Her face was all tensed up, like she was having a nightmare, but she was motionless besides her slow, even breathing. I moved forward to wake her up, but this time, instead of nudging her with my boot, I knelt down and shook her by the shoulder. She woke up in that same creepy way she did the day before, as if she'd been awake for hours and was simply opening her eyes to see me. For someone as young as her, I'd've expected temper tantrums and squinty eyes, but I should've learned my lesson about her by now: she wasn't exactly like other people. "Charon."

"We should probably get a move on," I suggested, pointing my thumb over my shoulder. She nodded, and got to her feet. "Charon, have you eaten lately? I have some dried mutfruit."

I suppose I couldn't deny it much longer; I hadn't eaten since she took me out of Underworld. I didn't answer her, though. "Are you hungry?" she rephrased. I couldn't exactly lie to her.

"Yeah."

Her hands dug into her pockets, and she pulled out a couple of weathered looking berries. "This is all I have," she said, giving me two and keeping two for herself. "When we make it back to Underworld, I'll buy us a meal."

"They sell spoiled food." I threw the fruit to the back of my throat. "You probably won't like it."

"I have a strong stomach." Instead of tossing them, she placed the mutfruit in her mouth like it was a careful arrangement. I watched her as she chewed it, and I had to wonder: just how much radiation was she exposing herself to? Mutfruit was kind of chockablock full of it. She'd come out of a vault, so she probably wasn't as Wasteland-wise as most other people. People were real careful about what they ate and drank constantly, considering radiation treatment was getting harder and harder to do properly. I was going to mention something about it, but then she started over toward Gob. He was a little slower to wake than she was, but he was on his feet pretty quick, popping that mutfruit like it was chocolate-covered candy. After we pilfered the house for more supplies, we headed out north, while I kept an eye behind us constantly. I didn't know Moriarty long, but I had the feeling he'd be trailing our asses pretty quick.

The trip would have been silent, considering that was how the boss and I usually got from place to place, but Gob kept piping up between us, trying to strike a conversation. I suppose he and I were on similar ground; maybe he'd been told to keep quiet for fifteen years of his life, too, and he couldn't wait to get it off of his chest. But the difference between me and him was a contract and a pair of balls. Eh, I shouldn't be too hard on the guy, he was a good enough ghoul, but…fuck.

"So, how much did Carol pay you to come get me from Moriarty?" He hefted the backpack she had given him for emphasis.

"Nothing," was her quick reply. She was starting to sound cold again, but maybe it was unintentional.

"Heh, I didn't figure you for the pro bono type," Gob muttered. "You seemed pretty self-interested a couple of months back when you wandered in."

"I am."

"Well, thanks for getting me out, anyway. I guess I'm going to miss some parts of the place…but it's better that I'm going home, I suppose."

She didn't respond, and I thought that would be the end of it. I was embracing the goddamn peace again, when she threw a question at him. "You must mean leaving Nova."

"Wh—I—well…yeah."

"I'm sorry, Gob. That never occurred to me." The icy edge to her voice had worn off a little, and she looked at him sideways.

"Nah, I'm grateful you got me out of that stinking hell hole, I just…I know she'll hold up okay with Moriarty, but…I'll miss her. Wish I coulda said goodbye."

There was silence again. Don't do it, boss…"I'll keep you two connected," she said.

Ah, goddamn fucking bitch tits, why was she starting to become such a saint? When I met her, she was out for no one but herself, save for the fact she was going out of her way for Carol before she went to look for her dad again. What was she going to do? Be a fucking delivery girl? Play mailman with love letters in hand, dodging bullets in downtown D.C.? Not to mention, what was she going to do with me? Put me in a cap and give me a satchel for all the deliveries? For Christ's sake, boss, quit trying to be such a goddamn messiah.

"Thanks, smoothskin, but I'll manage," he said with the air of a disappointed kid. I would've thought the ghoul was crazy, chasing after a smoothskin (even though she was a whore). There should've been no fucking way in hell there'd be a chance between a pair like that. After Gob had been kicked out of Moriarty's Saloon and I took his place, though, I could feel her contempt. She didn't like it more than I did. Who knew, maybe she'd miss Gob just as much as he missed her.

So, every once in a while, Gob would throw in some oddball comment, trying to get us all talking. I never reacted, and the boss rarely offered a response, but he never gave up. He'd mention things like how nice it was to be outside for more than five minutes, how big the Wasteland was, how he wondered if this settlement was still there and if this caravaner still traded. I was itching for an excuse to shut him up. I suppose to most people's standards, he was being just as quiet as we were, but he was talking far too much for my liking.

After a couple of hours, it was late afternoon again, and we were walking south along the bank of the Potomac. The boss had the map, not me, so I was trusting her to guide us in the right direction. She muttered something about trying a different route through the sewers, and eventually we came across this out-of-place door that stood out from the riverside, submerged slightly in a puddle. Just then, she dropped something, and bent over to pick it up. "It broke. Dammit. I'll have to fix this. You and Gob go on ahead through that door, I'll follow behind you."

I grumbled and trudged forward, keeping directly behind Gob. I didn't see what she'd dropped, but it didn't take her long to fix whatever it was. I could hear her stand and follow after us again as Gob opened the sewer door, and I followed him inside. As we walked down the hall, though, I couldn't hear her footsteps anymore, and I looked over my shoulder to see her standing in the doorway. She was looking at something to her left, fear etched in her face. "Boss?" I questioned, pausing in my step and turning back toward her.

She turned toward me, looking like an animal caught in the jaws of a deathclaw. I saw something flicker behind her eyes, some sort of recognition, before she yelled "Keep Gob safe!" and slammed the door shut.

Yeah. Shit. I panicked. All the years I could remember, I'd been comatose compared to that moment.

I flew at that door and tried to get it open, when there was a huge tremor and an explosion. Half of the door blew out, the shrapnel scraping against what was left of my face before the bulk of the door slammed into my chest. Next thing I knew I was lying in the sewer, winded, ears ringing and forearms on fire. There was smoky light filtering in from the top of the broken door as I put out the flames, but the light faded out as rubble dropped down in front of the gap. A lot of it spilled into the sewer tunnel, and I sat up to see the rest of it build-up behind the door, blocking the exit.

The last thing I could hear was her screaming before the rocks settled in place.

*

"Charon, we can't sit here forever."

I don't know exactly if that's what Gob said. I was too far deep in my own abyss to hear things right. I couldn't tell you if we were there for minutes or hours. When we were separated from her, when my mistress wasn't accessible…it was like a house crushed me. My contract was gone. You might not put two shits to this. In fact, you'd think I would've been over the fucking moon. But now I felt utterly sick, like when I didn't obey instructions right except like I'd killed her myself and disobeyed every order I'd ever been given. I started to shake, I started to feel like I was on the verge of imploding, like I was dying an extremely slow, painful death, but death wasn't going to come. I couldn't move, it was hard to breathe. My contract was gone. What was me was gone.

I was sitting in a small pool of irradiated water, leaning against the wall with my legs drawn up and my arms hooked around my knees. Radiation in small doses tends to be beneficial to ghouls; I could feel tingling in my burnt forearms but that was the extent of my grasp on reality. Gob's voice was kind of far off and dull. Maybe I didn't want to hear him. I think if I could've, I would've torn the ghoul's throat out, so it was better that I was caught in my own personal hell.

"Ah, goddammit!" I think he said, before I felt a pretty dull thud where he kicked the wall next to me. Yeah, goddammit. The boss used to be out for herself. Now she was sacrificing herself for our sorry asses, except she left me without a mistress, she left me without my fucking contract. It was like my soul was taken and crushed to bits right in front of me. I was barely aware of Gob sliding down the wall next to me, or the water ripple out as he settled in the puddle.

"Do these tunnels lead out anywhere?" he might've asked. I didn't actually know if the tunnels would go anywhere. At the time I thought maybe we were stuck inside this dead-end sewer tunnel for the rest of our unnatural lives. That option bothered me little, 'cause my contract was gone, anyway, so what the fuck did it matter?

"Charon, this is about your contract, isn't it?" I lifted my head a bit at the sound of the word "contract." Anything about that right then would suit me. "Sheesh, I guess it does have a bit of a grip on you."

Now that I was starting to listen to him, the silence was oppressive, like too much pressure on the eardrums. It was a piece of paper with eleven articles on it and it was a big deal. What I couldn't puzzle out was why. I couldn't pull myself out of that hole, no matter what I thought. It kept clawing me down, and oh fuck no I can't get back up—

"We have to try and get out of here, we have to go see if we can help her."

I drew my hands up over my head. I would've liked to say I was at least a little worried about the boss, but my missing weight was so much more heavier, so much more noticeable, so much more painful, I want out I want out I WANT OUT!

"Hey, pal, if we find her, we might find your contract, right?"

I just barely caught the those other words. It brought me close enough to the surface, though. "What?" I rasped in a low voice, lifting my head from my hands slightly.

He didn't say anything right away. Maybe he was caught off guard that I actually spoke. "If we look for the smoothskin, we can find your contract. It's the least you can do, right?"

I could practically feel myself flying out of that hole in my head, and I got the strength back to tear myself out of my fetal position. I could find the contract. I needed to find a slip of paper in order to feel normal, and that was fucking pitiful, but it was a thought that was a lot better than the one involving me waiting to die in a sewer because there was no contract around to make me feel whole. I looked at Gob, and in the dark I could see him cower. It was ridiculous how timid the man was. His suggestion made me feel like a million caps.

"Let's go."

I stood up, stretching my arms to make sure they were healed before I headed down the dark hallway. Gob scrambled up behind me, and our feet splashed around the water in the dark. I held out a hand to the wall, and used it as a guide through the pitch black sewer. After we rounded a corner, Gob started speaking again.

"What do you think happened to her? Raiders? Moriarty's thugs?"

"I don't know."

"How the hell are we going to find her?"

"I don't know, Gob, shut the fuck up." All I needed to do was look for my contract, and I'd start to feel better. I'd feel like a god once we found the goddamn thing. I needed to know where the contract was. Even if the boss got herself blown up, I needed that contract to be unscathed when I found it too.

"It's a little weird we don't know what the smoothskin's name is, isn't it?"

I paused, whirled myself around, drew my shotgun, and pointed it in Gob's face. It was dark in the hall, but I could still see him go stone pale. I didn't have time to spout off a warning or a threat to the guy, though, before the sickening feeling came back and doubled me over. I stumbled backward from Gob, dropping my gun in the shallow puddle and collapsing against the wall. The pressure was huge, like being under a mile of ocean.

That's right. The boss gave me one last order. I didn't know if she still had the contract, or if she was even alive, but that last moment was the one truth I knew, and it was a lot more sane to believe that she was still my current employer, and that her last order to keep good-for-nothing Gob safe was still in effect. Of course I couldn't draw a gun on the ass. Bad fucking move, Charon, don't try that again.

"Gob, do me a favour," I grunted, straightening as I picked up my shotgun. "Try to shut your mouth, yeah?"

"All right, all right," he mumbled, "sorry."

"Just to keep you happy," I started as I made my way down the hall again, the pressure receding slowly from my head, "I'm gonna try to find us a way to the surface again, then we'll head back to the sewer entrance and try to piece together a trail. Then you can ask her what her name is, just to kill the curiosity."

He didn't answer.

But when we walked through the halls, weaving our way back to where we were separated from the boss, I realized Gob had a point. I hadn't had an employer whose name I didn't know before. The thought never crossed my mind to ask in the first place. And, yeah, with the pain from losing my contract fading, I could honestly say that I hoped she was still alive out there and that she was still my boss.

I would never tell Gob this. Fuck it, I wouldn't tell anyone. But I wanted to know too.


	7. Propinquity?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young woman finds herself in a very precarious situation. Gob and Charon catch wind of her whereabouts.

The world came rushing back like breaking the surface of water for air. Something heavy was clasped around my neck. It was dark, cold, and inhospitable; I was placed next to a barrel in a run-down ruin, and the Geiger counter on my Pip-Boy ticked a foreboding tune.

My memories of what had happened over the previous ten hours was fuzzy at best. The first moments were vibrant.

The tunnel was dark, but I could see Charon looking back at me. It was when I saw the grenade fly that…Despite his harsh mannerisms and suggestive contempt for me, I felt that same feeling of anxiety I'd had with Gob—not being in control, not being able to keep them safe. Safe…were they hit by the blast of that grenade? If they were unharmed, did my last order stand?

A wave rode up from my stomach and I heaved, puking up what little contents of my stomach I had. I spit up the last of it, feeling the burn up my throat. Imagined or not, I started to feel a faint heat coming from the barrel next to me, and I moved as far away from it as the shack would allow.

"Boss?" Charon had said. When I stared at him…I don't know. I wanted to spill every last regret to him right then, for I was sure we were both about to die.

And that's when I came up with a haphazard plan to save them.

"Keep Gob safe," I commanded and I slammed the door closed.

The explosion hit before I could clear the door. Then I was somewhere else, screaming sharply at first, then finding my voice robbed of me. The pressure on my chest was unbelievable, and I thought for a moment that shrapnel had torn up my lungs. But I did not drown in my own blood. I did not wallow in it. I had no broken bones and I was not dying or dead.

Never had I been this discombobulated. When I tried to stand my limbs responded by crumpling. I took to crawling away when two strong hands grasped me by the shoulders and flipped me over.

"No," I growled, and I threw a jab at the crook of his arm, trying to break his hold on me so that I might take the element of surprise, but I was still as clumsy as a newborn. He staved off my blow easily, then struck me in the jaw. I stopped feeling it after the third blow, and by the fifth I couldn't control my body anymore, but rather than lose consciousness I lay limp in the dirt while they argued over me.

"She's not even on the bounty. The contract calls for the ghouls."

"Maybe we can use her as bait for the other two. Y'know, lure 'em out."

"Yeah, great fucking plan. Why the hell did you throw that grenade? Especially if they were already in the sewer? Think they'd eat their way through the rock to get back to her? And hey, what if you'd blown them to bits instead? You fucking moron."

"So it was risky! We got this out of it, didn't we?"

There was a pause. "Yeah, and she's not worth a fuckin' cap. What now, genius?"

"She's not worth a cap to our contractor, maybe, but she might be worth a sum from the slavers."

Another pause. "Yeah, I suppose that's an option. But here's the kicker. We'd have to go out of our way to Paradise Falls to drop her off. And even then, the dickwads might not even take her. They usually only do business with other contracted slavers, not mercs."

"So, you wanna camp out here with her until the other ghouls get here, or you wanna try and make some money?"

"Oh, fuck all that's good and holy, fine! Pick her up, you carry her, since you're the one who threw the grenade in the first place. I'll camp out here, wait for the actual goods. You cunt."

"I'm taking seventy-five if I'm carrying her there by myself."

"Oh! Certainly, Your Majesty! Why don't you just take the whole payment and I'll collect everything on the actual bounty that we fucking came here for!"

"You're a fucking asshole, you know that? Go fuck your mother."

I could barely feel motion, like I was floating inches off the ground. I was only aware of feeling in certain parts of my body, on top of the hot throbbing that pulsed on the skin on my back and calves. My middle was pressed into something hard, like a shoulder, and blood was rushing to my head.

"Already been there, fuckwad."

There was more talking, but it was mostly faint. Through all of it, I only heard: "We always accept business in Paradise Falls."

So. This was what would become of me.

I found it hard to be terrified, but I knew at a superficial level that I ought to be. Paradise Falls was not where good things happened to people. I was in slave territory. I reached for the collar around my neck. I could scarcely fit a fingernail under the gap between it and my skin.

I was a slave. I was going to die a slave, and my last thought would be of the father I never reunited with. It would be of the mother and son I failed to reunite. It would be of the slave I had cheated, the regret I held. I supposed I didn't care much about myself then; the only thing I could think about was if Gob and Charon had made it, if they were all right. The blast was fairly forceful, but old steel was still steel, and it could withstand an equally old grenade, could it not? They had to be safe, they had to be on their way to Underworld right now.

My eyes shot wide and I stopped breathing momentarily. I didn't give Charon the order to take Gob to Underworld. No. What would he do with my charge? Even if Charon still followed my orders, I had no idea if Gob would make it back home. It was open to too much interpretation. My sacrifice could have been in vain.

"She hasn't got anything on her, man," I heard someone say from outside the door, and I recoiled, scuttling back.

"What about that Pip-Boy on her arm?"

"We don't know how the fuck to use it!"

"She's gotta have something in that Pip-Boy, just fool around with it."

"Don't think I have?"

"No, I didn't think you did. Know why, Jotun? Because you're a fucking dumbass, that's why."

The door opened and a blast of evening light hit me in the face. I knew it would do little to help my situation, but all I could do to retain any honour I might have had left was to open my eyes wide and stare back, as painful as it was.

"You," one of the silhouettes said, and approached me casually, "you've got shit in that Pip-Boy worth somethin', don't you?"

Still as stone. He got close, and he bent over to grab me roughly by the collar of my ruined hoodie. "What's in the gadget?"

I wouldn't say a thing. I didn't care what he did to me, I didn't care if he cut off my arm to try and get data out of my Pip-Boy, but I had Charon's contract tucked into the gap between it and my arm. I would not lose it, not again.

"Gimmie that," the man said, his hand darting out of my forearm, pulling my Pip-Boy to his face. He jabbed a few buttons, staring at the screen with pointed eyes. He started mashing buttons, shaking it, swearing at it. Pip-Boy use was minimal in the Wasteland; there was no way he would figure it out. Not that he would find anything of value if he did. As long as he was focused on the Pip-Boy itself, he wouldn't find my last thread of hope hidden underneath it.

"To hell with it," he growled after a moment, throwing my arm away, "we'll just wait 'til Morgan gets back."

"Why wait for the tech? Why not just beat it out of her?"

"No, Eulogy said we can't touch her, not that one. If she has bruises on her, it'd lower the cost."

"So? I don't care if a bitch is broken and scarred, I just need her to be—" the door slammed shut behind them, momentarily muting the man's voice. "What if she's got something worth caps in there, man?"

At least I knew Charon was unobtainable by the slavers, at least for a little while. I slowly slid down the wall onto my side without feeling it at first. The ground was dirty, cold, but I couldn't sit up. I could feel a dry heave coming on.

And I really wanted Charon to just be there with me.

*

We eventually found a detour hall that led into one of the underground metro tunnels. It was by sheer dumb luck. I didn't think we had a chance of getting into the train station from there. The only thing on those tunnels were packs of feral ghouls, but all of them watched us from a distance, screeching threats. I kept making sure Gob was on my heel, even though I knew the ferals wouldn't think of attacking us. But my state of mind was still fragile, and I wanted to make damn sure that fool wasn't going to get himself into any sort of shit I couldn't stop first, not if it meant being pulled down into that hell again.

I know I said I didn't care for talking with this guy, but I eventually had to actually talk to the sorry sack about my plan. "I'm not bringing you to Underworld," I said, breaking hours of silence walking through the tunnels. "I'm going after my contract, and I'm supposed to make sure you're safe in the meantime, so you're coming with me."

"Well, I figured that," Gob said back to me in a grumble. "Besides, I wouldn't go back if you sent me. I wanna help you find the smoothskin."

"Good." I actually didn't care. He was as useful as skin lotion to me, but I rather he agreed than me having to convince him otherwise. I didn't know how long it would take us to get back to the entrance of the sewers, but each second I went without knowing where my contract was felt like an eternity.

Silence came back comfortably this time, but I should have known better than to expect Gob to let it lie. I'd broken the peace, and he was eager to mess it around some more. "Charon, don't you care the least about that kid?"

Ah, for fuck's sake. I shouldn't have explained myself to the bastard, or else we'd be walking in silence still. Silence, I took you for granted. I only realized I did in moments like these. "You know what, Gob, that's not a conversation I'm ever gonna have with you."

"Because, you know, she seems self-serving, but I think she's a good enough person underneath it all."

I rolled my eyes. I would just let him talk like a fart to the wind. I didn't want to exert the effort trying to get the message across that I didn't want to talk to him. I thought I'd already made that clear, but I suppose I couldn't expect that much from Gob.

"I suppose out of all the smoothskins I ever dealt with, she was the nicest. Every asshole in that town gave me shit all the time, 'cept her, and maybe Nova. She didn't seem to care much about me, but she never had any judgements either. I hope she's okay."

Jesus Christ, I wanted to keep my mouth shut. "Yeah."

"Really?" Gob said. "You too? That's a surprise, coming from you. You know, I used to get the same vibe from you, when you were a smoothskin."

So, I'd like to say I've got this hard, unwavering reserve, that I didn't give a shit about my past or Gob's involvement in it, but I paused in my step, and Gob came to a halt behind me. He probably thought I was gonna turn on him and give him hell, because he started blabbering. "Hey, you know what, man? Forget I said anything—"

"When was this?" I said, relatively calm for what he'd just said like he was talking about what we did last Tuesday.

Gob shuffled his feet again. I would have punched the fucker in the knees if I could have. "Eh, yeah, sixteen years back. I mean, before I was sold. Last time I saw you, you just started turning."

I never put any thought to it. Memories of my life consisted of being a ghoul, and I barely even considered that I'd once been human at one point. He caught me off guard. And I was never caught off guard. I searched his face, trying not to look pissed about it. It was mostly because I didn't want him to do his stupid little nervous-dance. "You knew me when I was human?"

"Sorry, I—" he faltered, then sighed. "Yeah, back then, you were a smoothskin. You were kind of like the kid in a way. Cold-shouldered, indifferent, but it was still better treatment than everyone else gave me, save the fact that I was a slave."

I stared at him. It wasn't much, but it was hard to take in. I was a human at one point, I didn't look like a walking corpse…why couldn't I have died? On top of being some sort of tool tied to a piece of paper, I was a fucking ghoul; my life was as shitty as it could've gotten. "Let's keep going." I wanted to ask him more, but I didn't. I didn't know how.

"Yeah."

I couldn't bog down my curiosity with my distaste for Gob anymore. Before it'd been annoying jabbering, but now…human. Well, yeah, obviously I had to be one at some point. But. Fuck. Fuck my life.

It took about an hour before we found the top again, and all that time was spent in silence. We didn't meet one threat out there. It would've helped make me feel better, take the edge off a bit, but I suppose I hope too much for my own good. It was early evening, as the sun was close to setting, and it made shit worse. I hadn't a fucking clue where we were, and being lost at night was asking for a reason to die.

I decided that going through another subway might lead us to the outer reaches of D.C., where we could make it back to the sewer entrance we'd been jumped at. I felt like saying a couple of things to Gob once in a while, but I decided against it. Who knows how much talking he'd want to do if I encouraged him. I suppose I was starting to hate him less, though. Not like him more, that's not what I said. Just hate him less.

When we rounded a corner into a generator room, we came face to face with a small group of mole rats. Sure, they were just mole rats, but I could've been giggling with glee, I was so happy to shoot at something. I got one before they could think of rounding on us, then I blasted the second when they started charging. The last one jumped through the air at me, and I waited until the last second to blast it apart.

A bang went off in my left eardrum. The rat exploded in my face. Cursing up and down, I leaned against the wall. There was blood on me, I was sure I'd gone deaf, and I didn't get to kill the last mole rat.

"What the fuck?" I yelled, standing tall and towering over Gob. He had the .44 in his hand, and he still held it up, like he was prepared to shoot me next. I thought for a second that maybe he would, but I realized he was just scared that I would do the same, maybe. Sure, I was pissed, but kind of impressed. He took my kill, but he had fucking good aim.

"Next time? Don't fucking pop one off by my ear."

"Sorry," he mumbled, lowering his gun.

I wrung my pinkie in my ear. "Leave the death-dealing to me."

"Okay." He looked more helpless than a twelve-year old.

After another hour, we came up to the surface next to the remains of an old major highway by the Potomac. I immediately started south along the river, Gob walking briskly behind me to keep up. I wanted to get back to the entrance to find out what happened, I wanted to find my contract now.

It was night by the time we got there, and I knew we were in it deep, but I couldn't give up now. If the dark bothered Gob, he didn't complain. If he did, I would've snapped at him to keep his hole shut, anyway. As we got close, I saw that the side of the hill had been blasted apart where the door was embedded, blocking the path. I wondered how far away the boss got before the grenade went off, if she died slowly, or if she made it. I remembered those screams…I could have never imagined her screaming. Screaming meant she was alive, but it was…ah, fuck, it was terrifying. There, I said it.

"Well, do you see anything?" Gob mumbled as we stood there before the blasted-in sewer entrance, looking at the scattered debris of dirt and rock from the grenade explosion.

I sighed heavily, like how I used to sigh to myself when some dick was trying to rile shit up in the Ninth Circle. "No."

"Crap."

I rubbed my eyes, feeling the little remains of my skin scrape together. What the fuck did I expect? I suppose our little detour was the only way for me to keep myself distracted and sane.

Well, what could have happened? Probably an ambush from mercenaries hired by Moriarty. In any case, it had to be someone who was stalking us for some reason or another, and it had to be someone who knew what they were doing. So, if the boss survived, where would I find her? Where would a couple of mercs take a girl? Maybe the bounty was for her head, or to take her back to Megaton to Moriarty…but I couldn't risk going back there. Not with Gob. I'd undo everything that kid worked for. But what if the contract was there?

Then I heard something. "Gob, stay put," I demanded, and he stopped pacing. I listened. I swear I heard a shuffle that was out of place with Gob's movements, some sort of slip or shifting—

There it was.

I pulled my shotgun and charged at a pile of rubble. As soon as I got close, some guy jumped up, holding a shotgun. I blasted a cap, pellets spraying across his chest and right arm. He didn't make a noise as he staggered backwards, and I closed the small gap between us, swiping at him with the butt of my gun. He fell with a muffled wheeze and I pounced on top of him, holding my shotgun aside with one hand and choking him with the other. He had dark armour on, with a white claw spray painted on the top corner. He was a Talon merc. Motherfuckers. I heard about 'em before, but I never had the pleasure of choking one.

"Where is she?" I growled, shaking his head for emphasis. He was beating at my hands, but the effect was like butterfly wings fluttering on me. Not to mention I'd just blew pellets into his right side, so he was probably at a disadvantage in strength. He squeaked, unable to say anything coherent. I was going to ask him more forcefully again, when I considered that I was probably choking him too much for him to talk. I loosened my grip a bit, then asked him again: "What'd you do with the girl?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm gonna pop you're fucking eyeballs out by your throat if you don't smarten up," I threatened, squeezing harder than before. His legs flailed underneath me, and his face started to turn purple while his eyes grew wide. I let his throat go again, then waited for him to speak. I didn't want to have to repeat myself.

"Selling her," he gasped, still trying to fight me off with his left hand. He was repressing some groans from the pain, but he was being pretty tough considering the shit I was putting him through. "Paradise."

I had to stop myself from brutalizing the little fuck. Blind anger came over me—no, it had to be fury, berserk, raging madness, out-of-control-beat-the-living-shit-out-of-everything hatred. My contract was potentially in the hands of the slavers once again, but I didn't think that was the root cause of me slamming his head into the ground. I gritted my teeth hard and tensed my muscles to keep myself from continuing. "When?"

"Partner went hours ago," he managed, then coughed up blood.

I squeezed his throat again, shaking him as I questioned him. "Who sent the bounty?"

I already knew, or at least, I thought I knew, but I wanted to hear him say it. "Someone in D.C.," he said through gritted teeth, struggling under me to try and get me to ease up. "In Underworld."

Oh.

That was a fuckin' surprise.

Someone in Underworld sent out a bounty for Charon and Gob, huh? This was priceless. If I was furious before, I was going feral now. I kept on bashing his skull into the dirt, and he went limp and shit himself. Why the fuck would another ghoul do that? Did the guy have some sort of grudge against the boss?

I stopped long enough for him to focus on me. "It wasn't to kill," the guy said, his face still screwed up and his teeth still gritted tight. "Bring back alive."

"And the girl? What did she have to do with it?"

"Nothing," he nearly shouted, losing his constraint. He must've been under a lot of pain at that point. "That's why we're selling her."

"You lousy fuck. Burn in hell."

So I beat his head into the ground until his head couldn't take it anymore.

My contract. With her…it…

Even though she probably didn't have it anymore, I'd still have to look for her to track it down. It was beyond that, though. It really was. I only know this because I had room in my fucked up mind to be thinking about her actual well-being while I feared for my piece-of-paper soul. When Ahzrukhal had my contract, I didn't think I could have wants to express. My boss treated me…not kindly, but…like a person. She brought me back. I had to help her. I needed to. I wanted to.

I stood when I felt I had myself in check, and I turned around. Gob was standing there with the pistol clutched in his hands, looking at me with this dumbstruck look. "Shit," he muttered.

"You remember where Paradise Falls is?"

"Yeah, it's to the north," he said sheepishly, pointing in the direction. "We're not…we're not going after her by ourselves, are we?"

"Yeah, we are."

"Charon, hold on a second," Gob said in his weak voice, holding out a hand in a pleading gesture. "I can't go back there, Charon, they'd lock me up in a second. If someone recognizes you, they might—"

"That's where my contract is," I said bluntly, starting off north past him, "and since you're still in my charge, you're coming with me."

"Is that all this is about?" Gob called after me. "Your fucking contract?"

"No," I said quietly, so that he wouldn't hear me. I stopped on my tracks and looked at him. He stood on the spot, holding his hand and the magnum out in a way that suggested disappointment. "We're going now."

"So, what, we're just gonna barge in the front door and demand they hand her over?"

"Not exactly."

"You've got a plan, then?"

My face twisted with a bit more rage as I thought about what those fuckers were doing to her and what I wanted to do to them. "Yeah."


	8. What Happens in Paradise, Stays in Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon finds what he was always looking for.

The door swung open halfway through the next day. Another silhouette stood in the doorway, one of the same men from the day before. He walked toward me slowly, but I did not flinch away. I was sitting in the middle of the room, trying to escape the unpleasant warmth of radiation that seemed to come off every inch of the walls, and the light from the doorway fell across me like a judgment call. I could only see his outline, but I could feel the smile on his lips. Whatever was about to happen to me wasn't going to be pleasant.

"Your grace period's expired," the man said, coming to a slowing stop right in front of me. "Mr. Eulogy wants to see you himself."

I didn't look up at him, I kept my eyes glued to the door instead. I'd like to say that I would not falter, even in torture, but I wasn't so sure what would happen. It was the not knowing that frightened me more.

"Get up."

I stayed sitting. He kicked me in the chest. When you're unable to breathe from being winded, you can't feel the pain in other parts of your body. He grasped me by my hair and I found my voice enough to cry out. He had me on my feet, grasped a handful of my hoodie, and slapped me with his free hand. "If you're gonna be an ass, I'm gonna be fucking ruthless with you. Understood?"

I'd say nothing to these people. He tried to shake an answer out of me and I locked eyes with him. Part of my training was that no matter who you were or what you looked like, eye contact could make even the largest of men submit, if you did it like you were going to really hurt them. I had eyes like the pools of hell. At least, that's how Amata put it once. I'd let him burn in them.

There was a fault to my reserve, however. I was not a security guard here. He was. And I was a slave.

I nodded once.

"Good. Now come with me."

He let go of my hoodie, but his hand locked onto my shoulder, and he pulled me along as he brought me outside. The light was brighter than I ever remembered light being, at it hurt more than the sting in my face. My jaw throbbed from when I'd been beaten, but I must have been given a stimpak to clear the damage, for my face felt as if it were already on the mend. The superficial cuts from the shrapnel were also a dull burn now. The only thing that remained more prominent than ever was the tingling sensation over my skin, the knot in my gut, the general unease in every pore, like I didn't fit in my skin anymore.

My eyes were squeezed shut as I was dragged across the slave pen. Another wave of dry heaving was threatening to make an appearance. I could hear the other slaves that were housed in the pen with me. Just the way they shuffled their feet towards us as we passed sounded like a plea for help.

"Back the fuck off," the slaver barked. I could feel him shove off a few slavers with his free hand. An assault riffle was cocked, and there was a rush of feet as they scampered away. A gate squealed open and he led me through. Someone slammed it behind us. I opened my eyes by a sliver to try and see my surroundings, but it came out as a blur. As I was adjusting to the light again, I was surrounded by dark once more as we entered another building.

"Mr. Eulogy," the slaver said in an uncouth attempt at a formal tone, "I brought the girl."

"Thank you. Show her to her seat, please." The voice was smooth like velvet, but it was so coy, so deceptive.

My eyes were open wide enough to see the room again. It was expansive. A bed sat in the middle, and I could see two figures draped across it. I assumed they were two women. There was a single lamp hanging from the ceiling that spread light across the middle of the room, but the corners were hard to see.

The slaver shoved me down into a chair roughly, and I didn't bother exerting restraint. I expected that to be the end of it, but he suddenly threw a rope around my chest, and I was squeezed to the chair as he tied a few secure knots around the back. With my arms held in place, another rope wrapped around my legs and the legs of the chair. I kept my eyes hooded and downcast as this took place, but when I heard the heavy footsteps across the floor, I looked up quickly, before I could even really register the sound and my reaction.

Heavy boots.

It sounded like Charon.

The anticipation intensified while I peered into the dark, waiting for him to approach. How could he be here? Why? The slavers didn't get a hold of my contract somehow, did they? I felt excitement and dread at once, until I caught sight of the man as he came from the shadows. There was no Charon. I felt a weight on my chest, something akin to relief and disappointment.

The man that walked toward me was tall and dark, and he wore a long red suit jacket and slacks. Not quite business wear. He looked more like an exaggerated character, like he was in a costume, or something of the sorts. His suit wasn't meant to project a comedic feel, but an authoritative one. He had a black goatee and a shaved head, which gleamed in the light, and his eyes were as dark as mine.

The slaver stood next to me once he finished binding me to the chair, and the man (whom I assumed to be Eulogy) waved a hand to him. "Thank you, Forty, that will be all."

Forty moved away from me towards the front door, and I averted my eyes from Eulogy to the floor. There was silence for a moment, save for Forty's steps as he walked away. "Look at me," Eulogy said quietly, even politely. Being difficult at this point was not going to benefit me whatsoever, so I looked up to him. He appraised me like I was a gun he was considering buying. "My, you really are something. Very unusual, but pretty." One of the women snickered behind him on the bed, and I looked over to her. She had a slave collar around her neck too.

"What's your name?"

I didn't reply. I waited for him to beat it out of me, if it was that important to him. "You know, I read this old pre-war book once," he continued instead. "It was on ocean life. I've often wondered if any of the fish survived the bombs, what they'd look like now. Especially one of those things they called a mako shark. Those were terrifying motherfuckers. If it wasn't their jaws you feared, it was their pitch-black eyes. That's what you remind me of: a shark. Sharkeyes.

"But giving you nicknames isn't why I brought you here." Eulogy walked away from me towards the bed. The girls shifted out of the way slightly, and I noticed guns in belts on their hips. Eulogy sat on the bed, about ten feet away from me, then continued: "I understand you were traveling with some interesting people."

I did not blink. I did not balk. I was blank. No, please, no.

"A lonely merc brought you in here, but he struck up a conversation with my old friend Grouse. Turns out this merc had a bounty on two ghouls. Also turns out that he and his partner found you walking along with them."

I don't know why he paused, maybe he was expecting me to say "I don't know what you're talking about," or perhaps he was letting things sink in, giving me time to realize there was no fighting it, because he already knew. "This wouldn't be anything interesting, but he described the two ghouls he was after, and the short synopsis that went along with it. Turns out that those ghouls are old…acquaintances of mine, you could say.

"So, here's the deal, Sharkeyes," Eulogy said, clasping his hands in front of him. "You're going to tell me where one of our friends is, both parts of him, and I'll spare you a whole world of pain."

"That's your only threat?"

"Well, someone like yourself might say that, but someone like yourself probably hasn't been through a whole lot of pain, either. It's easier to dismiss something unfamiliar, like agony, than to accept it."

I stayed quiet.

"I'm a very impatient person. I want that contract now, and if you don't give it to me, I'm going to rip your fucking Pip-Boy off by your arm."

Well, I thought, at least it would still be hidden under the Pip-Boy.

I couldn't fathom where I stood with Charon, but I knew how I felt about him. He didn't really do anything, but he helped me realize what I'd been missing in myself for the past two months. I thought it would be helping Carol that would make me feel human again, but it was him.

Eulogy was furious at my mocking silence. "I'm gonna say it one more time," Eulogy demanded firmly. "Give me that contract, or I'll end you."

"Mr. Eulogy!" Forty came calling, his voice akin to something of urgency and excitement. "Mr. Eulogy, someone's here you oughta see!"

Annoyance was the first look on Eulogy's face. Forty lumbered into the room and Eulogy got up off the bed, snarling. "What part of 'private meeting' did you not understand earlier, Forty?"

"But, Mr. Eulogy," Forty said, his eyes snapping between his boss and I, "it's that guy from the Jersey band," his voice wavered as he lowered it to a whisper, "it's the last one."

My face fell and my heart started to race. I didn't have to know what he was talking about to know Charon was involved. It meant that he was alive, that the blast hadn't killed him, but it also meant he had walked willingly into the beast's maw. He wasn't trying to save me, was he? Barging in the front door of a slaver town was not the method I would have expected of him.

Then it dawned on me that he did not come for me but for his contract. I remembered him saying how important it was to him; he must have been losing his mind not knowing where it was. But how did he find me? How was he even sure I still had it?

I saw Eulogy look at me with such an expression that I felt he had looked inside me and saw what I was thinking exactly. It looked like surprise, but most of all, it looked like mockery. He could tell this was my downfall, that I had lost the fight before it had begun. "Sounds like our mutual friend, doesn't it, Sharkeyes?"

I didn't even bother countering with my own defence; he already saw my distress. Eulogy walked forward towards me, and he brushed a lock of my hair away from my face. I did not look away. "Forty, take her ropes off. We're going for a little rendezvous with our friend."

*

"Charon, what the hell are you doing?"

I didn't answer him. I kept marching up to the front gate of Paradise Falls, feeling more and more anxious as we got closer. Would my contract be there? Fuck, I hoped so. Most of all, I hoped she still had it and that she'd order me to blow these fuckers to the afterlife.

"Charon, they're gonna know who we are! We can't go in there!"

What the fuck else was I gonna do? I couldn't be without knowing where my contract was. I couldn't leave Gob behind either; it made me more comfortable to have him in my sights than stashed away in some nook. If it meant we'd get enslaved just so I could watch him, it was fine by me. I mean, yeah, I'd like to say I could do more to help her, but there really was no other choice for me. Besides, I couldn't sit around forever hoping my contract would fall into my lap. I'd have to improvise until then.

"Shut the fuck up," I threw over my shoulder at Gob. "Don't say my name. Just play it cool."

"Yeah, but—"

"Don't make me say it again."

I'd finally found the opening in the fence when I growled this, and I could see the sentry walk around his little fort, an assault rifle in his hands. He had ammo wrapped around him like a rope, more ridiculous than intimidating. He stood between us and the path that led to the front gates like he was a titan and we were tiny people, which would have been fucking hilarious any other time. Trying to be a fucking alpha dog, eh? Shithead had another thing comin'.

"What the hell do you want?" The guard barked, inclining his head toward me.

"I had some merchandise stolen from me." I folded my arms in front of me and stopped five feet away from him.

He shook his head. "A ghoul with merchandise? I don't buy it."

Well, the boss wasn't my merchandise, but my contract was, so I wasn't totally lying. "Blonde girl," I stated, "black eyes, stands up to my shoulder. Lost her sometime yesterday to a Talon merc."

"Get the fuck out of here," he said, waving a hand, "I don't do business with zombies."

"So she's here," I grunted, glaring the guy down. "I want her back."

"Look, pal, even if that bitch was your property, she ain't now. Besides, there's no fucking way a girl like that'd belong to two piece-of-shit ghouls."

It was then that I caught the guy staring at us from over the sentry's shoulder. He was walking toward the front, probably to relieve this jackass, when he paused in his tracks. He had really stupid looking hair with a bushy dirty blond beard, and he wore just as equally stupid armour as his stupid coworker. But the way he was staring at me was what I caught first—that look could mean a whole shitload of trouble for me and Gob.

The guy in front of me stopped talking, but I didn't notice. I'd lost myself to a few seconds of thought on what that expression on that guy's face could mean. "You listening, pal? I said get lost."

"Grouse!" the bushy guy yelled. "Escort these guys in, will ya?"

"Fuck off, Forty!"

"I'm serious, Grouse, or I'll have you deloused with the other slaves."

Grouse made this real ugly face, shaking his head toward the ground. "Fuck you, pal."

"Wait for me out front."

"Whatever."

So, the bushy guy (apparently named Forty) turned on his heel and jogged into town, but he kept his eyes on me. I watched him, too. I knew I was screwed at that point. Gob was right, I was recognizable. I didn't think it'd be likely, though. If I'd been gone for fifteen years, how would someone still be around to recognize my ugly mug?

"Come on, you lousy bastards," Grouse grumbled, waving his gun through toward the front gate. I knew now wasn't the time to give some cheek, so I followed the guy through the path quietly, and Gob followed. The moment I stepped past the wall, I got this weird feeling of déjà vu. I couldn't place it, but I felt different, like I'd stepped out of my own skin for a couple of seconds. I shook it off, following Grouse down the path toward the front gate.

Grouse was mumbling under his breath, but I didn't pay much attention. Probably bitching about how he'd been undermined by that bushy numb-nut Forty.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Gob grumbled from close behind me as I followed Grouse down the path.

"Stuff it."

I felt him tense up behind me. "We're screwed."

When we got to the front gate, Grouse kicked it, then turned around to face us. I could picture Gob darting his eyes around, trying to avoid the guy's glare, but I burned holes into the guy. He tilted his chin up a bit again, and his nostrils flared as he worked his jaw. "You a rep for some sort of regular here?"

"No."

"Forty doesn't act like that around anyone. You must be some sort of celebrity then," Grouse finalized.

"I don't know yet."

"You don't—tck, fuuuck, man." Grouse let out a lame laugh and shook his head, turning away from us. The gate started to pull upwards, and we stood waiting for it to be drawn all the way up. When it was a little bit higher than his waist, Grouse bent over and ducked through. Gob and I followed, though I had to wait until the gate was a bit higher before I could bend down to cross over. The moment I stood up again, I saw Paradise Falls for the first time in fifteen years.

I couldn't remember why, but I could feel the uneasy feeling growing in my stomach. It was like the opposite of nostalgia; the moment I walked in there, I wanted out. I could hear Gob shuffling his feet again. Suddenly, I wasn't so mad at the guy for it.

"You must be more popular than you think," Grouse said, his voice thick with annoyance and surprise. "You got the big cheese out to see ya."

Beyond all the junked cars and pre-war crap, a clown in a red silk suit was making his way toward us with a little posse hot on his heels. I could see two women in pink dresses walking at his side, guns held tightly in their grasp. Obviously, I took to this with a rather humorous attitude; the three of them looked like a dancer troupe. I could barely make out Forty behind them, but as they rounded the bend, I could see him dragging along the boss.

I must've done something that might've given us away, because I felt Gob kick my foot, and if Gob had ever tried to kick my foot under any other circumstances I would have made him wear his ass as a hat for the rest of his days. I tried best I could to hide the anger that was bubbling under my skin, to fight off the urge to whip out my shotgun and shoot them all down. After all, the boss's safety was in jeopardy, along with my sanity. I didn't know which of these fucks had my contract, or if they knew what that would mean just yet. For now, it was just about her.

"I never thought I'd meet you in person," the guy in the red suit said, his voice projecting over the yard as he came closer. "I also never thought you'd show your face around here again."

I didn't say anything. I was too preoccupied with watching how that dirty bush bastard tugged the boss around. There was a collar on her neck. Default was to shoot everyone in sight until she was clear, but that was a risk to her life too. If I wasn't careful here, we were gonna have a shit ending.

"You look a little different from the pictures, though," the guy said, stopping in front of me. "The name's Eulogy Jones, after my late daddy. May his soul rest in peace."

They all came to a stop, and the boss straightened up as much as she could, but Forty held her arms down. I saw her look up at me, but there wasn't any panic in her face. Our eyes connected for what might've been too long, when I saw her shake her head the slightest bit. I looked away from her, trying to figure out what it meant. So, I said the only thing I could say to fill the gap.

"That kid's mine. Stolen by some mercs. I want her back."

"Oh—ho, that's rich," Jones said, chuckling a bit more, "because I'm pretty sure you belong to her."

Fuck.

"Oh, and you," Jones said, motioning behind me towards Gob, "I remember you; I was just a tyke back then, but you're still oh-so-familiar, Gob. Christ, it just might be my lucky day!"

I looked to the boss again. She wasn't looking at anyone anymore. I knew defeat when I saw it.

"I understand ghouls call themselves by new names once they've turned," Jones said to me with a shit-eating grin. "What do they call you now?"

"Charon."

"Ah. So you kept your slave name. I suppose in your case, you took on a new name when you stopped being your own person. Before that you had another name. I don't remember what it is. But it's not really relevant, now, is it?"

Gob shuffled a bit behind me.

"Well, now that I have one half of you," Jones continued, turning to the boss, "I'll give you one last chance to tell me where the other half is."

She didn't move or look up. Shit, that kid had a reserve too strong for her own good.

"All right," he said, then nodded his head toward us. Two shotguns were held up to Gob's head.

My first reaction was to start fighting. No fucking way were they going to hurt him, not while my orders still stood. Of course, that would have been a stupid ass move. A part of how my contract worked was leaving me indifferent to life or death. I would still give a shit if some asshole threw me into some fucked up situation knowing that I'd die, but my life didn't matter as long as I had the comfort of knowing who held my contract and what they told me to do.

Before I got my own gun up, I heard her say it, but just barely.

"Stand down."

It was instantaneous. As soon as I'd raised my shotgun I lowered it. Until I received further instruction I faced her.

"Hah!" Jones laughed out loud, the kind of laugh that someone would give if they won something out of blind luck, and the shotguns were pulled away from him. "I didn't think it'd be that easy! Looks like Sharkeyes is a little sentimental about her rotten men, isn't she?"

She was staring at Gob, who was looking ready to shit himself, and I saw that same look spread on her face from when the mercs attacked us. Her eyes went between the shotguns and his head, and she was slipping. Fuck, she was about to break, and there was nothing we could do.

"I've got it in my Pip-Boy."

Jones looked at some of his men accusingly. Someone fucked up royally, then. Forty let go of her arms when Eulogy motioned to him. She didn't so much as look at me when she reached in between her Pip-Boy and her arm to draw out the contract.

If I ever knew what love was, it was how it felt to see that paper again. It still existed. It was safe. Everything was right. But as she held it up with trembling fingers, the flood of relief vanished. I wouldn't be able to help her once that paper was out of her hands. I'd be gone again.

Jones took it from her fingers so gently, it was mocking. Everything I'd known with her went away, like washing away some dirt off your hands. It was still there, but I could do nothing about it. I would not. Jones waved the paper like a fan, smiling at me deviously. I stared at him blankly, my mind waiting for instruction.

He smacked the paper against his open palm. "Scavo," he said with triumph. "That was your family name."

I put that one down in the books. Another reason to draw out this sorry fucker's death later.

Jones just smiled at me, then turned to Forty. "Put a collar on my old buddy Gob there."

"Certainly, Mr. Eulogy," Forty said with a greasy tone that made even me cringe, then grabbed a collar from his belt, moving past me toward Gob.

Those collars weren't just symbols. They were explosives. I'd heard this from passing ghouls in the Ninth Circle. Any slave tried to leave Paradise Falls still wearing his collar, he'd be leaving without a head.

Gob didn't so much as shuffle when Forty slapped that thing on him roughly. It was like a hunter knocking its prey to the ground, and the animal gave up trying to fight for its life, just lying there while the predator had its fill on flesh.

"Charon?"

"Yes, Eulogy."

He shoved the boss so she was a few feet away. "Kill your former employer."

Oh, no. Fucking no.

I was howling on the inside but fucking stone cold on the outside. I drew my shotgun and stalked her down. Even the bravest people who face death piss themselves, and even those who claim to be resolute and tough-as-nails start squealing and begging for mercy. I'd killed a lot bigger men than her that started crying when I came for them. She had that same look in her face when we were jumped by the mercs at the sewer. Maybe she was on the verge of pleading, but she didn't. Didn't cry, neither. I really didn't want to kill her. It hurt, somewhere deep down. Gob called out for me uselessly. Her and I held eye contact the entire time, and she never backed down, didn't look away. Her eyes were a pair of nightmares. I raised the shotgun, pointing it in her face, and I could see my own reflection in them—

"Wait. I've changed my mind."

I lowered the shotgun. She was shaking, breath held. Eulogy laughed.

"Slap her."

I had to.

I hit her fucking hard. Dirt was kicked up when she spun and crashed. Like a pack of jackals, slavers started cackling and jeering.

"She's still a valuable asset to us yet. Escort her back to the slave pen, Charon. Return to my office when you're done."

I always thought about having a different master than Ahzrukhal like a man might think of fucking another woman besides his wife, but now I was pretty sure I hated my new boss more, and I'd been in his employ less than two minutes.

She was still slumped on the ground. I grasped her by the arm (my hand still burning from where I'd slapped her) and hauled her to her feet, dragging her towards the pen. I heard Jones tell Forty to take Gob too, and I was cursing him a mile a minute in my head. My hand kept on itching as I dragged her to the holding pen, and the entire time I was pleading with her in the back of my mind, hoping somehow she'd hear me and look up. But she never did.

After Gob and the boss were in the pen, I went in search of Eulogy's office. It was a rotting house nearby the slave pen, and every corner was covered in some slime or filth. I stood inside the doorway to his bedroom (I assumed it was a bedroom because it had a bed in the middle) waiting for any sort of instruction.

He walked to the middle of the room—I wasn't too sure what he was doing, but something else caught my eye. There was this picture hanging on the wall next to me, and before I knew what I was doing, I looked the thing over. It felt familiar to look at, but I couldn't recall anything about it. There were about thirty or so people standing around in power armour, all shouldering assault rifles and laser guns. I scanned their faces, that odd feeling turning around in my stomach again, until I came across the last guy on the end. He was taller than the others, and he had this squarish face and short brown hair.

It took a while to sink in.

"I barely remember you, I was a kid at the time," Jones said, waving away his two girls in pink to the next room, "but I heard lots of stories about you and your kind. Orphans brainwashed into adulthood from somewhere called Jersey. I never found out where that was, but it wasn't important. You have no fucking clue what you're worth, do you?"

I reluctantly tore my eyes away from the picture. "No."

"You're the last one," Jones said, sitting on the bed in the middle of the room and throwing his hands up into the air. "Laaast one. All the others were sold off to rich and stupid Wastelanders who didn't use them properly. You were the lucky guy that stayed behind here in Paradise Falls and lived. I guess the locals didn't take to you changing into a ghoul, because they beat the living shit out of you. I mean, beat you. You weren't supposed to survive, but they threw you in the slave pen near the radiation growth, and you healed up in a couple of weeks. You just didn't remember anything when you came to, or so I'm told."

I felt that pull again. It was there, somewhere in my mind, but I couldn't remember it. It was blocked by a giant brick wall, and there was no way around it.

"You spent a couple of weeks in the slave pen, and a couple of the slavers decided to see if they could sell you off. Didn't want no ghoul in their service, after all. Eventually, this guy Schafer came in and claimed your contract, after a hefty bag of caps, of course.

"I'll say it again, I was too young to remember any of this shit, but my daddy kept a journal about all the purchases and sales made in Paradise Falls. You wanna know what it said about Schafer?"

"No." I really didn't. I felt I'd been led too far into the water, and I was going to be taken out by a tidal wave soon if I wasn't careful.

"Go to that computer terminal," Jones said, pointing behind him, "and read the note 'July 16th, 2262'."

It was in the far corner away from light, the monitor glowing green. I'd never used a terminal, but I'd watched Ahzrukhal fiddle around with his enough times to get the gist of how it worked. I sat down at the chair, then scrolled through the notes, selecting the date Eulogy mentioned. I wasn't really looking forward to reading the note, but I did it, feeding off that comfort of sanity it gave me.

July 16, 2262:

That brainwashing bastard Schafer scrambles up out of a hole somewhere out in the Wastes, his pockets filled with enough caps to put me out of business. Instead, he forks them all over to buy back what he'd made in the first place. I think the poor bastard went soft. Probably felt guilty for what he'd done in the past, and wanted to make things better again. I don't know what he plans on doing with that brainwashed ghoul, but I suppose it's none of my business, not now that I'm thousands of caps richer. If I were to bet my caps, though, I'd think he's taking the chance to redeem himself or some shit, maybe see if he can fix what he broke. Fucking hypocrite. First he plucks them out of the Wastes, brutalizes them into blindly following a piece of paper, then tries to erase it all. I never want to know what they do down in Jersey for fun.

Confucius Jones

That brick wall in my head got knocked over like a toothpick in a storm after I read that note. It was a lot of information in a rush, like a waterfall trying to squeeze everything between two pebbles. I could remember Schafer from the beginning, back when I was a kid, back when I'd been tortured, conditioned. I could remember the others, how they were auctioned off so quickly, but most of all, I remembered me. My indifference, my lack of personality. I was a plain tool, I wasn't human. I hadn't been in a long, long time. I was Scavo.

I wanted to read the note again, but it wasn't in my orders to do so. I kind of sat at the chair, dumbstruck, not knowing what to do next. Back when my skin started to flake off and my voice started to get raspy, they beat me, but they weren't intending to kill me. They would've just shot me in the head. I could remember everything…fuck. I felt like I'd been thrown against a wall and splattered against another version of myself, and now there were two lives, two sets of memories. Everything I'd done, my apathy—I didn't even have the slightest reluctance when I'd been ordered to brutalize that family. I simply clung on to how comfortable it was to follow orders—

"Are you doing reading, Charon?"

"Yes."

"It's a damn shame the locals didn't keep you around. They should've known better than to judge a book by its cover. You're something else, partner, you know that?"

I was something else. Who am I? I felt so confused, so torn—this wasn't me, but it was—what the fuck do I do?

"I thought I should share that with you, put us on the same page," Jones said. I could hear triumph in his voice. "You can stand down for now, Charon. Go relax at the bar or something. I'll let you know when I need you."

"Yes, Eulogy."

I got up off the chair and walked from the room. Once I got out of that musty house, I didn't go to the bar. I went to the slave pen instead. I didn't have the keys, but it wasn't my intention to go inside, anyway. I stood in front of the chain link fence, looking in. Gob and the boss were sitting together, but neither of them saw me. No one was paying attention to me. I watched them for a while, trying to keep a hold on who I was, what I'd done. I gave a crap about those two, didn't I? Fuck, boss, why did this have to happen?

After a few minutes, I had to turn away. I could remember the weight of the collars, Schafer's so called "buddy-buddy" relationship with me, her eyes on mine. They were black, but there was a lot in them. I was scared then, because I was sure this was it for her. Three days and she had already become…

Boss, what I wanted to say…

What did I want to say?


	9. Bittersweet Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A merc company and a slave outpost are put at odds against each other.

1\. The individual who holds this contract, where "hold" is to physically possess the contract or to have it in his or her personal keeping, is hereby known as the "Employer" of member 26, hereby known as "Charon."

2\. The Employer is not required to keep the contract on his or her person, but must have it in possession and must be the clear Employer of the contract for Charon's terms to take effect.

3\. Charon's first objective is protection of the Employer in terms of combat, where combat is defined as the use of weapons or sparring to end threatening situations;

4\. Charon is bound to protect the Employer from harm, where harm includes but is not limited to, physical attacks, maiming, dismemberment, and any action against the Employer that can result in death.

5\. Penalty upon failure of any order given (provided that the order was specifically stated verbally) or to protect the holder of this contract from harm may result in Charon's termination, should the holder of this contract choose to do so.

6\. Charon will not flee from life-threatening situations to himself unless ordered to retreat by the Employer; however, physical violence on the Employer's part invalidates the contract.

7\. Charon must be within easy access of the Employer at all times, and never at a greater distance than one mile.

8\. Charon must follow all orders given by the Employer at all times until otherwise specified;

9\. However, Charon must refuse orders that separate him from his contract so that contract consistency and employ verification can be irrefutable.

10\. This contract is null and void upon Charon's death.

11\. Upon death of the Employer, Charon is required to retrieve the contract and will protect it as the Employer until such time that an individual claims the contract again.

When I was a kid, I lost my parents to some raiders who were scavenging for supplies, and a few days after that, I was picked up by a slaver cult. Schafer was with them. They seemed nice enough to start, but then they beat me, tortured me, and for some reason, they were always shoving a piece of paper in my face with some writing on it.

I've memorized the articles on there. Even when I thought I didn't know what was on the paper anymore, I knew it.

We were trained to use power armour, be the best of the best. I can remember each of the other kids I grew up with, but I can also remember how I didn't feel anything for them, and they didn't feel anything for me. I didn't care about anyone or anything besides that contract. I'm sure they felt the same.

A couple of days passed in Paradise before anything eventful happened. First, their tech Morgan came back to town, and that in itself was anticlimactic. He was some asshole no one actually gave a shit about. Pretty weak-willed guy. He was worse than Gob was, if that was possible. But he did take out every last bit of data on the boss's Pip-Boy, the fucker. If they could have taken that thing off without taking her arm with it, they would have. The only thing saving her was how many caps she'd fetch to the right buyer. Didn't want to damage the goods, after all.

I'd never given a shit about previous owners. But I was fucking fuming inside. I'd stand at attention for Eulogy every day, hornets buzzing in my skull, seeing red everywhere. One opportunity, just the barest sliver of chance to interpret orders, and I'd blast any last one of those fuckers.

But he wouldn't, and I knew that. Her and I were both trapped. Besides breaking one of the terms on my contract, this was the worst thing I'd ever had to go through. Some people deserve this fate, but her? Not her. And I couldn't do nothing about it.

A few days later, opportunity came knocking.

Jones had me keeping watch over the slave pen, just to give Forty a break. I didn't see Gob or the boss; I think they were inside the shack that was attached to the fenced off shit hole. I'd been hoping Jones would send me over here, or at least give me another load off, just so I could see if she would look at me. I slept a bit in between, but any chance I got, I was watching the pen. Either she was in the house, or if she was outside, she never looked up. I don't know if she knew I was there or not, but she probably did, and she probably couldn't look at me. I didn't blame her, but I hoped she'd give me a glance.

Shit. I was getting pathetic.

I was standing there by the pen when shit started. It was sometime in the afternoon, and Grouse was calling for Forty. I didn't glance over; I was supposed to keep watch on the slaves, but I listened to the confrontation.

"Hey, FORTY!"

"I'm on fucking break man, what do you want?"

"Go get Mr. Eulogy. We've got trouble."

"Why don't you go get him?"

"I'm not even supposed to be away from the fucking gates, you moron. There's a Talon company on our doorstep."

I guess people weren't kidding when they said the Talon company took all the contracts the other mercs wouldn't. Now they were prepared to paint the town red just to get me and Gob out? I'd never pictured a better looking piece of art.

Forty was all quiet for a second before I heard him leap off his bar stool and run for Eulogy's cardboard mansion. A radroach could scamper through the camp and everyone would lose their shit, they were so unskilled. The other slavers started mumbling, drawing their guns and cocking them.

One or two slaves looked interested, trying to crane their necks to see what was going on. They caught me staring at them, though, and they looked away pretty quickly. I wasn't trying to tell them to fuck off—I was just as interested as they were. I wanted to know how Jones was going to handle this, 'specially considering his motley crew of fuckups couldn't seem to handle common sense on their own. Most of all, I was interested in what was gonna come out of this when the mercs found out Eulogy Jones's personal bodyguard was their target of interest.

People came out of the old house. Eulogy called after me. "Charon, come with me." His statement kind of ended on a high note, almost like a question. Either he was super pissed and trying to hold it together, or he had his head shoved just as far up his ass as his cronies. I turned from the slave pen, uncrossed my arms, and started off behind Jones's little train. Other slavers started to trail behind him too, and I was pretty sure the entire town was following.

We got up to the gate, and this time they'd left it open. Sloppy. When we rounded the gate and headed toward the outer wall, I could see Talon company coming up the path, pushing aside Grouse on their way up. There were about ten of them. At the moment, anyway.

I could see Eulogy tense up the moment he saw the mercs snaking up to his gates. He started shaking his head, and he held out his hands like a peace offering. At least he was trying to go about this in an intelligent fashion. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, let's not take this out of hand," he said, strolling to a stop. The mercs, in V formation, came to a stop about ten feet away from Eulogy, their guns cocked and raised. I retaliated, but Eulogy muttered for me to hold fire. The other slavers aimed from the hip. A few of the mercs were staring right at me, and a couple more started to look around at each other, shifting their weight nervously. They knew who I was, all right. What I was.

I came to a stop a few feet behind Eulogy, and two mercs near the front pointed to me, while one of them said: "We've got some business with your slave, there."

A lot of people tended to have business with me nowadays. This was getting fucking stupid. Eulogy said, "Any sort of business in Paradise Falls can be run by me." His voice was grated. I could tell he really would rather be dealing with a pack of deathclaws than these bastards.

"Eulogy Jones, right?" the same merc said. "Turns out you enslaved two ghouls on a very, very important contract to us. We want them back, no trouble needed."

"I'm sorry, friends, I can't do that." I could tell Jones wanted to say a few more choice words, but he was treading carefully over really fucking thin ice. He knew a bloodbath with a bunch of trigger happy mercs wasn't the best of strategies. At least, I hoped he knew this. I didn't take Eulogy for a dumb ass, but I'd been led astray before.

"Look, why don't we strike some deal? Maybe you got some old business that needs taking care of. We can do a fair trade for the two ghouls."

"Hold on, son—pump the brakes," Eulogy said with a chuckle. "We don't barter favours in Paradise Falls, we barter caps."

"Come on, Jones. We don't want any trouble, and handing over those ghouls now will save us both a ton of caps and blood."

"If you're gonna be a fucking smart ass, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." He was letting it slip. If he wasn't careful, he was gonna fall into the ditch of the Point of no Return. "Gentleman, this is a lost cause; the amount of caps you'd need to buy back these slaves is probably more than you're being paid to begin with. Let's just drop this and move on, shall we?" Good recovery, I thought, almost fell apart there, Jones.

Some mercs stared at me, some stared at Eulogy. Their faces hadn't changed. They weren't going to back down. Whichever bastard in Underworld was paying for this bounty, it must've been pretty fucking big, just to get all these clowns to march into Paradise Falls and demand us back. They weren't about to back down. I knew they wouldn't.

"All right, Eulogy. No hard feelings."

Wait, what the fuck? He may as well have been waving a big-ass red flag.

"Good to see we're on the same page," Eulogy said with a grin. Fuck, I really hoped he saw through that. I knew without a doubt that they weren't going to pull out that easily. They'd jam themselves up Eulogy's ass for days before they backed out of this. I would've told this to him, but I wasn't on any instruction to say anything, not unless he asked.

Thank bloody Christ I didn't say anything; it would have screwed everything over. Nothing that night would have happened the same way. Jones wasn't totally lost to the idea that these guys weren't serious about backing off, but if I'd said anything, the mercs would have never stood a chance.

"See you around," the head merc said, then all of them lowered their weapons and funnelled back toward the sub gate. Grouse was still standing off to the side where he'd been pushed, holding a pistol at his hip toward the flock. He looked really, really fucking mad. I could tell this wasn't the guy who got pushed around very often, and he wasn't taking to it one bit. I could practically see the steam blowing from his ears. He wanted to unload on those motherfuckers. I suppose he was like me, in a way, save for the contract. He knew better than to fuck up Eulogy's plans. When the group of mercs got closer to the gate, Grouse started off behind them, marching real slow and deliberate like. Forty strolled after him slowly too, holding his assault rifle to his shoulder.

"Charon," Eulogy said as the last of the mercs trailed off from view, "come with me. The rest of you, stay on guard tonight, just for extra measure."

He was gonna need a whole lot more than that.

*

Jones knew I was trained for combat, but he considered me highly valuable, too valuable to put in harms way, if he could help it. Which is pretty fucked up, considering I'm built for the dangerous shit. So he had Forty and Grouse keep watch out front, while all the other slavers kept to key points in the town. I was by the slave pen again. I suppose he figured that if the mercs were to somehow get past all the other slavers (if they actually decided to attack), I'd be the last thing they'd get to, considering I was half the prize. The whole thing seemed funny to me, though; If I took a shit on the ground, it'd be more valuable to Eulogy than half his slavers combined.

I was to stand facing away from the pen, looking towards the path to the front gate. I wanted to glance over my shoulder every now and again though, just to see if the boss was there. She was so close, within a few strides reach, but I couldn't see her. I didn't care if it was daggers she was glaring at me, but if she was looking at me, that meant she was still there.

Flood lights were set up along Paradise Falls, and here and there a flaming barrel. So I could clearly see that slaver walking up to me from all the way across the yard. I'd seen her on the way in a few days before, then here and there when I was watching over the pen. Her head was shaved, save for two wisps of hair at the front, which she turned upwards into little horns. I thought she looked like a fucking retard, but all the power to her, I guess. Her eyes were kind of squinty, and her cheek bones were a little too jagged where her jaw was a little too small. Her clothes, not to mention, were filthy rags. Yeah, sure, being a Wastelander wasn't a fashion show. You wore what you found, and you went with it. But it looked like she went for a pile of trash and got dressed in the dark. I guess what I'm trying to say is: I didn't like the bitch, not since I first saw her. I could tell she was an evil scumbag, just like Ahzrukhal.

"So, you're Eulogy's new plaything, huh?" she grunted to me in a rough voice, like she was trying to be macho while retaining some of her femininity at the same time. She walked up next to me (lumbered up next to me is more accurate) and stood facing the same direction I was. She leaned against the chain link fence that preceded the slave pen and folded her arms across her chest. I didn't even bother looking at her, but this didn't discourage her. "The name's Red. Carolina Red."

"Don't you have a post?"

"Take it easy, tough guy," she barked, pulling a cigarette from one of her dingy pockets. "My post is right over there," she struck a match, holding it to the smoke that was held loosely in between her lips, "I can see it just fine from this spot."

"Go away." I would've sworn her up and down under normal circumstances. I felt watched, though, so I kept it civil.

She snickered. "Hey, I like you. Strong silent type. 'Course, you could do with some more skin and hair, but the height'll make up for it."

"Go—" I growled, shoving her by her shoulder, "—away."

"What's the fucking problem, asshole?" Red sneered. Her voice was muffled by the cigarette she held so steadfastly between her stained lips. I didn't look at her. I stood straight again and brought my eyes back to that point in space where the path to the gate disappeared behind a burned and gutted car. "I'm practically throwing myself at you, and you act like a dick! Shit, maybe you ain't got no dick."

"There a problem, Red?" some blonde burly guy muttered from up ahead. He was stalking toward us, glaring me up and down. For fuck's sake, this was the last thing I needed.

"Yeah, there a problem," she slurred, "numb nuts here doesn't know how to treat a lady."

A lady.

"That so," the blonde guy replied. Fucking piece-of-shit dick weed slavers—

The blonde guy stood less than a foot from me, peering up into my face. I gave him my meanest fuck-off face, the one where I looked ready to bite off someone's nose. "You'd better watch yourself, ghoul," he breathed. Fuck, his breath probably stank more than mine. "Just because your Eulogy's new favourite doesn't give you superman status."

"Just get back to your post," I growled one last time, looking away with a roll of my eyes. I was getting awfully tired of this nonsense bullshit.

"Your loss," Red whispered to me as she walked off. "Probably the last offer you'll get for the next fifty years."

"Go fuck yourself," I muttered. She didn't hear me. The blonde guy walked with Red back through the dark, whispering together in angry tones. No one ever liked me, save for Schafer (supposedly), and maybe Gob, so I wasn't surprised to hear them cursing me to all sorts of shit under their breath. I didn't care very much either. I was wondering what the boss was cursing me to, if she was even thinking about me, when the mercs made their first move.

6\. Charon will not flee from life-threatening situations to himself unless ordered to retreat by the Employer; however, physical violence on the Employer's part invalidates the contract.

Somehow, without anyone noticing, one of the bastards climbed atop one of the tall walls on the southern side with a missile launcher. A fucking missile launcher. The missile whistled through the air before it collided with the small watchtower down the path, blowing the ironwork to bits, and sending the slaver on top flying through the air like a rag doll along with parts from his own launcher.

I pulled my shotgun and took off down the dirt path. Some slavers just started shouting and screaming, as if that would help the situation. Some took off down the path toward the front gate. Red and the blonde guy were running past the junked car ahead of me, when I noticed a small fire burning up the inside. They were old, but whatever people built them with two centuries ago, they made sure they were as dangerous as guns.

"Over there!" I yelled behind the two jackasses, and I threw myself behind a wall. Neither of them got the chance to even pay attention to what I was trying to say, because next thing the car blew up, sending flames and debris flying in every direction around the town. I felt scraps of metal pound into the wall behind my back, and I saw bits of flaming car shoot past. A few pieces embedded into the generator lining Jones's house, and the lights went out.

"Fuck!" I heard Red yell, followed by her vicious screaming. The other blonde guy didn't call out. He was probably dead.

"What the fuck is going on?!" some guy said from my side, running from the bar. He threw a drinking glass of scotch to the side as he pulled out his shotgun, looking down at me.

"Mercs." I stood and checking my weapon for functionality. "Ambush."

"Fucking Christ," the guy growled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then pumping his shotgun.

"Fucking bastards!" another slaver yelled, then gunfire opened up. The mercs were in Paradise Falls.

"Cover me," the slaver growled, then ran around the corner. I was still checking up on my shotgun when the guy went guns blazing into a fight. Tough fucking titties for him. His orders didn't mean shit to me.

A few seconds later, Eulogy came bursting through the front doors of his house with his two bodyguard slaves at his heel. He had two revolvers in his hands (he took the one Gob had when he pinned the collar on him) and his eyes were buggy and real frantic. I caught his eye from across the way, and he started off toward me, the girls running right behind him. A few bullets whizzed past them as he caught up to me. One of the girls got clipped in the leg and she fell to the ground. Eulogy didn't so much as look back for her.

"Charon, I want you to cover the pen," he demanded, ducking behind the wall. The blonde girl stooped beside him, loading her pistol.

I nodded, stalking off backwards toward the pen again. Like I said, I was built for the thick of it, but he wanted his most valuable assets all in one corner, well protected. A few mercs went to hand to hand combat with the other slavers. A few more were having a gun fight from behind a few piles of junk, but none of them bothered to shoot at me. They wanted me back alive.

When I'd backed up to the gate I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. A few mercs were dropping from the top of the wall, landing ungracefully into the dirt. Talon company was known for its brute force tactics rather than agility. I stayed put where I was, but I pivoted and took a shot at the idiots. I was a little far away to cause any serious damage, but I clipped one with a few pellets, making him stumble. They started towards me, drawing assault rifles. I kept moving. For mercs, they seemed to have piss poor aim too. One of them missed me and shot at the slave pen gate, chewing the lock to bits. They were getting closer now, and I opened fire again, unloading the remaining four shots at them. After the fourth shot, one of them was still standing, and for some reason decided to toss aside his gun and charge me.

I could have laughed. That was really fucking funny.

For shits and giggles I charged too, still holding my shotgun, but instead of firing I ran over the guy. Literally. He could have been half my size. Bowled him right over. I made sure to double back and give him a few swift kicks in the head. Yeah. Unnecessary, but you have to stop and smell the roses every now and again, right?

With the area secured, I reloaded my shotgun, then started to move back into position, when I heard a distinct squeak from the hinges of the gate behind me.

I turned around, holding my shotgun up, coming face to face with the boss. Hah, this holding her at gunpoint thing was starting to become routine. I saw more movement, and I twisted from her to the rest of the pen. Gob was standing at the gate, and he was holding it open for the other slaves to file through. They all paused, staring at me, probably expecting me to fire. How the hell did they get through? I stopped trying to sort things out, and I turned from them, bringing my eyes back to the fight ahead. I felt like the boss was going to say something to me, but she didn't. Hell, I wanted to say things to her too, but even if I could have thought of something to say, I probably wouldn't.

I didn't fire because I wasn't supposed to kill any slaves escaping—that was what the collars were for. I also had no orders on stopping them. Not really.

She moved past silently, never taking her eyes off me, and a trail of slaves stalked after her, their heads low and their steps light.

Gob was the last to pass through the gate. "Charon?" he whispered, but I didn't acknowledge him. "Thanks, buddy."

I wasn't doing anything for him, but if it made him happy, then whatever. I kept scanning the area for threats as he rushed off behind the slaves. The boss ushered them behind the same wall where I had taken cover a few moments before. All the slavers and mercs had been fighting up close near the front gate, and nothing reached me from back here. Everyone had a weak strategy; they were pitting themselves up close and personal, with no sort of cover or distance in order to fight properly. At least, that's how things were at that moment.

Then I watched a merc hobble up the path with a large launcher perched on his shoulder, looking like a pack brahmin.

Well, fuck me sideways. It was a mini nuke gun.

What in fuck's name were these crazy ass mercs thinking? Why the hell would they drag a fat man all the way to Paradise Falls just to get two ghouls back? Why would they jeopardize killing their bounty? "Heads up!" I shouted from where I stood, but no one heard me. No one but the boss. From the faint light of the fire barrels, I saw her silvery blonde hair whip around as she looked to me. She peeked over the corner, and she could see the gleam of the fat man by the faint light too. The guy got down on one knee, and started to load a small bomb in the chamber.

"Lambert!" a merc called, disengaging to yell at the kid merc. "LAMBERT! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"

"Clearing a path, boss!"

"LAMBERT, PUT THAT FUCKING THING DOWN!"

He closed the chamber.

Holy fuck! Holy fucking fuck! He was going to kill everyone, including all the mercs that were fighting. He would end up blowing himself away too. The fucking idiot kid!

The boss shot up, pulling a few slaves by the scruff of their tunics as she tried to urge them back toward the pen for better cover. A few of them panicked, and started off toward the front gate, past the battle that waged. "No!" she tried to call after them, but they kept running. She had Gob help her urge everyone else back, even though he didn't seem to know what the fuck was going on, and I stood there by the pen's gate, hoping they'd make it in time. I couldn't leave my post, but I could feel the urge to run up to her and help her burn in my feet.

Lambert yelled something out, and most of Talon company sprinted out of my sight, probably back through the gate. One guy looked like he was going to tackle the kid to get him to stop, but a slaver shot him in the ear before he could get there. That's when one of them raised the cry that a small nuclear explosion was about to go off and they started running back toward me, screaming at the others to get a move on. I could see Eulogy and his slave dash away, the look of people who've just shit themselves, when the merc launched the bomb.

At that point, a few of the slaves with Gob were trailing behind the boss, and she was strides away from the pen's gate. The moment I saw the nuke fly from the gun, I reached out to grab her by the arm, and I pulled her forcefully toward me, and shoved her over onto the ground so that I could cover her body with mine. She tried to struggle a bit, but I forced her down with my hands. "Stay down!" I shouted, and a split second later, the explosion went off.

The heat, the noise, the radiation washed over me. Blinding light illuminated the town. Bodies went flying through the air, a few of them still alive, screaming as they went. When the deafening roar reduced to a growl, and the bright light morphed into a billowing black mushroom cloud, I stood from over the boss to look at the damage.

The guy who'd launched the mini nuke wasn't there anymore, and a sea of bodies lay strewn across the ground. Some people were still screaming, some were dead. The slaves that had been trailing behind the boss were still alive, but they were burned or burning. They tried to crawl to the pen still, as if somewhere in their minds that was the last thing they had to do before dying. The ones who were with Gob were smouldering bodies now, but Gob himself was okay. He rushed up towards me, and landed on his knees beside the boss.

"Hey, you okay?"

"I'm fine." I could tell that she wasn't.

I looked over the small body count, and I caught the sight of the Eulogy's blonde slave lying there. I only knew it was her by the wisps of pink dress that were left behind, but her body itself was burnt like an overcooked brahmin steak. Poor bitch. I looked to the left of her, and I saw Eulogy's body. He'd been hit pretty hard by the blast, and he seemed to catch a good chunk of the shrapnel and heat. The longer I looked at him, though, the more the uneasy feeling started to take me over.

My master was dead.

I'd failed to protect him.

I'd went for her instead.

The contract.

The abyss was pulling me back. I staggered backward from the force of it. Fuck, I was losing my mind—I could feel hell close in around me again and fuck no don't make me go back there please let me out—

"Charon!" I don't know which one of them said it. I slid down the gate and brought my knees up, resting my elbows on them, knotting my hands in what was left of my hair. What was I going to do? Someone pull me out! I WANT OUT I WANT OUT!

Someone shoved something in my face. I caught the glimpse of weathered, yellowing paper to see the boss holding out the contract to me. The edges were a little burnt, but it seemed to be intact. Most importantly, it was in her hands again.

Oh. Fuck. Yes.

I couldn't tell you how relieved I felt, but I was still bewildered. I looked into her eyes for a second, still slouched on the ground, and I noticed how much more hollow she seemed to be. The light was faint, and her eyes blended in with the dark, but I could see the weakness in her face. Haggard, in a way, full of turmoil, and even more pale, if that were possible. She didn't urge me on or anything, but she held my eyes for a moment, and it looked like she was struggling to hold on to herself. Gob was standing beside us, and I heard him shuffle his feet. "Come on, I think someone's coming," he said with panic.

"Get us out of here," she muttered.

I stood abruptly, then reached down for the boss's hand gently, pulling her up. When she was on her feet, I grasped my shotgun in both my hands again, then started off down the path ahead of them. I watched for possible targets, but I also couldn't put the tingle in my hand out of my mind. Her hand was so…dainty.

That was the first time I knew she was in huge fucking trouble.


	10. Wasteland's Most Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fugitives find time to catch their breath. Bad news is shared.

When the car exploded, shrapnel shot everywhere, and it destroyed the generator powering Eulogy Jones's house. In the few days that I spent in the slave pen, I talked to one of the children on the other side of the fence. He'd told me he'd heard there was a terminal from inside Eulogy's home that powered all of the slave collars, near and far. When that generator was destroyed, the lights on all the others' collars dimmed out. Our collars emitted a high pitched whine sounded, then faded.

Now was our chance.

There was a woman in the cage with us who had a spare bobby pin. She claimed the slavers didn't bother to search her hair for such an object, considering she was a ghoul, and had little hair left to begin with. She pulled it from her tresses and handed it over to Gob once I suggested my idea. Gob moved over to the gate and began to work the lock while we all listened to the battle wage. With the flood lights out and only the fires in the handful of barrels in the yard to see by, I could just barely make out Charon as he fought. It was more troubling knowing at any moment a stray bullet could catch him upside the head than the fact that if we escaped, he would likely shoot us down.

But would he? Would Eulogy have ordered him to kill his merchandise?

"Gob," I called out in a whisper, and everyone turned to me. I hesitated in my next words, but I reassured myself that if I were to die now, I'd have it no other way than by Charon. "Let me go first. If he kills me, stay inside the fence, all right?"

It was a silent and unanimous agreement, but Gob hesitated before giving me the right of way. The outer gate's lock had been shattered by gunfire from Charon's attackers, and the door tilted open slightly. I crept to the gate, my eyes stayed trained on Charon's back the entire time. He was backing his way to his post.

I laid a hand on the gate, still watching Charon. I'd stopped breathing and my mouth had gone dry. Would you have done differently? I thought, thinking on my father. I thought I knew him, but I had no idea what he would have done in my position. I believe it's become obvious at this point that Charon was more than incidental to me. I wouldn't hold it against him if he made a move to kill me. But I really hoped he wouldn't.

When the hinges squeaked, my heart jumped. This was life or death now.

I hope you know that you were my friend, I thought, as he whipped around and held the barrel of his shotgun in my face.

I didn't squeeze my eyes shut or flinch away. I waited for him to pull that trigger. Instead of watching the gun, I kept my eyes on him. It was dark, but I could make out his eyes on me. I think I stopped breathing. He didn't fire. He suddenly moved his gun away from me towards the back, and aimed at Gob and the others. I still didn't breathe, although I knew that if he did not shoot me, he would not shoot them. Just as quickly as he had turned on me, he turned away from them, keeping his eyes on the battle ahead.

My relief was heavy, but I felt a pang of disappointment. No, he hadn't overridden his orders, he didn't see me or Gob, he only saw slaves. There was nothing I could do for him without that contract.

I looked over my shoulder and waved to the others to follow. We kept our heads low as we made our advance across the path. I was going to try and lead them to safety, but I didn't want to. Not then, at least. What I really wanted to do was find Charon's contract and take it back.

We came to the nearest wall and we ducked behind it for cover. The fight was a disorganized blunder. Those who took cover shot blindly over it, not aiming at all, shooting friend and foe alike, though more often than not nothing at all. The mercenaries seemed to have a better grip on basic tactics, though some of them still found themselves in close combat and clearly knew nothing more than what they'd learned from pub brawls. Eulogy Jones was hanging back, armed with two magnums. The shots were loud, but apparently quite inaccurate. He fired often, but after twelve shots, he had to pause and reload. I was waiting for the right moment to crawl around the wall and sneak past to battle to the front entrance when Charon shouted: "Heads up!"

My first reaction was to look his way. It was a relief to hear him speak, say anything. But I should have looked about instead. A man was kneeling down in the middle of the tumult, loading a fat missile into a very large launcher on his shoulder.

I tried to herd the slaves back towards the pen, away from impending doom, but some of them spooked and ran in, hoping to get around the fight. I called after them, but I had no choice but to keep going. When I was close to the slave pen again, Charon grabbed me by the arm roughly, then threw me to the ground beneath him. I tried to fight him off, thinking he was trying to attack me, but he shouted "Stay down!" and pressed his weight on top of my shoulders.

A loud blast erupted in the cold, dark night, and I stopped being able to see or hear for a moment. I thought I was going to die. The sound—when I could hear again—was overwhelming. I could feel the tremors in my chest, shaking my bones. And the heat. The heat.

A few moments passed before Charon stood and gave me my freedom again. I stayed sprawled on the ground, but I lifted myself up by my arms to survey the damage. Charon and Gob were unscathed. Others were scattered everywhere, some dead, some burning. Gob knelt beside me. "Hey, you okay?"

"I'm fine."

But I felt sicker than I had before. A fatigue so prominent took over me that I could barely stand. With shaking knees I drew up, then Charon collapsed. He was huddled against the chain fence, withdrawn into a tight ball, looking more vulnerable that I had ever thought I would see him. "What—?"

"There," Gob said, pointing.

Eulogy's twisted body smoldered on the ground a few yards away, part of his body burnt from the blast that had blown away Paradise Falls.

Gob and I talked infrequently while in the pen, but he had told me of the events passed, how he and Charon had arrived in Paradise Falls. The most terrifying detail of this story, however, was Charon's reaction to our separation. His description of his incapacitation was horrific in that a world where Charon felt apart was improbable. Gob didn't know of what was going through his mind, but Charon was unresponsive until his contract was mentioned.

His contract.

I staggered over to Jones's body, even though Gob protested. I searched the corpse's pockets. No contract. But there was a key.

I ran for Eulogy's office, Gob calling out my name as I went. The integrity of the building had started to give way, a large chunk of it missing from where the explosion had gone off. The door tore off its hinges when I went to open it. With no electricity, it was nearly impossible to see inside. I turned on the Pip-Boy light. There, in the far corner, was Eulogy's safe.

A support beam groaned with the effort of holding up the ceiling. I ran, tripping and sliding on my knees, trying to jam the key home. Finally I disengaged the lock, then tore open the door to search the contents of the safe. Guns, knick knacks, pre-war money, and Charon.

I swept up the paper and tore out of the building as fast as I could, the support beam giving one final creak as it started to cave in. The door was right there, I had my hand on it—

A chunk of cement landed on my back. It shoved me out the door, landing on my ankle. Though it agonized to do so, I wormed under the debris, but it would not relent. Then Gob was there next to me, hauling the weight off of my leg high enough for me to slip out. I was just barely able to stand and run from the theatre as it finally gave way, the outer wall collapsing forward, missing us by feet, a dust cloud billowing out into the sky.

I came back over to Charon, feeling old and decrepit, and fell clumsily to my knees in front of him. "Charon!" He didn't look up, so I tried pushing his knee. He still didn't react, so I waved the paper childishly in his face, and he slowly looked up.

Just presenting his paper soul to him was comforting to me. I'd thought that if he saw the paper, he would know what to do. So much was left unsaid, and every time the moment presented itself for me to say anything to him, I never did.

"Come on, I think someone's coming," Gob said from beside us

"Get us out of here."

And suddenly Charon was standing and hoisting me to my feet. I wavered dangerously but Gob steadied me with a hand and led me along after Charon, who was already marching down the path toward the front gate. Bodies lay everywhere, and I tried my best to avoid stepping on them. A few slaves and slavers seemed to be conscious, but they also appeared to be holding on by a thread. There was nothing to be done for them.

The path leading to the front gate was more clear. A lot of the mercenaries who had fought at close quarters with the slavers failed to retreat a safe distance from the nuke. I could see the destroyed launcher lying in ruins next to the dead man who had used it, and I felt no pity. It was beyond idiotic to use such a thing. I was so preoccupied by observing the useless death around me that I did not realize two mercenaries were still standing and were approaching us intently.

Charon held up his shotgun, but I reached forward and touched his back weakly. "Don't fire unless they threaten us," I commanded, trying to keep my voice even. I felt so sick, I felt like I just wanted to lie down and sleep.

He didn't say anything, and I questioned if he'd heard me or not, but he didn't fire. The mercenaries slowed in their step, but they held their aim towards us. I clenched my fists nervously.

"Get the fuck out of the way," Charon boomed. His voice carried and echoed twice over.

"You're coming with us," one said with a drawl, then shifted the nozzle of his assault rifle towards me, "or we take out the girl."

I flinched when the shotgun went off. Pieces of bone and flesh splattered everywhere from where his head had been. Before the second mercenary could react, Charon had turned on him, blowing a round into his chest. The man fell with a gurgled cry. The moment he hit the ground, a scarce second had gone by, and Charon had muttered, "Let's move," before I could fully calculate what had just occurred. As we walked by the dying man, he growled: "You're fucking dead, you're fucking dead!"

It was true. The whole world was against us now, or so it seemed. First I had angered Megaton, now the slavers, and even the Talon company. For being an insignificant and unexceptional traveller in the Wastes, I somehow had a knack for attracting a very dangerous amount of attention. So many had died, good and bad alike.

We travelled most of the night. Hours from sunrise, we settled down by the dry banks of the Potomac near an overturned pre-war houseboat. We didn't start a fire. It was likely we would be spotted by one of our many enemies who were likely out looking for our blood.

Luckily for us, there were old imperishable goods stored in the crates that littered the ground next to the boat. They were primarily freeze dried fruits and cakes, but they filled us, regardless. I fought off waves of nausea as I ate, trying not to show my weakness to my companions. I managed to keep the food down somehow, or perhaps I had just gotten lucky. We sat in silence for a while after we'd eaten, and surprisingly, it was Charon who broke it.

"Gob, remember the time I was holed up in the pen for failing to execute an order, and you sat next to me the entire time, trying to chat me up?"

Gob looked just as surprised as I was. What's more, Charon suddenly seemed to remember his past. We were leaning up against the overturned deck like it was a wall, and Charon sat in between us. I looked between him and Gob through the dark (the coming sunrise provided just enough light for me to see them) trying to read the situation.

"Er…yeah, I remember," he said uneasily, probably trying to decide if it was a trick question or not.

"You said you left Underworld to find 'broader horizons.' Why?"

He looked like he contemplated this for a moment. "Grass is greener on the other side, I suppose."

Charon shook his head and gave a sardonic chuckle. "Yeah."

It fell silent for a moment, but Gob piped up. "I didn't think you were listening."

"Me either." He looked like he was going to say more, but he paused. Then: "Slavers picked you up outside of D.C., right?"

"Yeah."

"Shame."

"Well…shit happens."

"Heh."

I was surprised to see them getting along so well, but my curiosity was nagging at me consistently. "How did you remember, Charon?"

He rubbed a hand over his scalp. "I just needed a little push. It was there all along, I just couldn't…"

"Couldn't, or didn't want to?"

He shrugged. "Maybe both. Feels like there's another person in my head sometimes. And I don't want to remember him."

We left it at that. After a while, the sun was peaking over the east from behind our backs, and Charon suggested that we get some sleep. He wanted to keep watch, as always, but Gob refused. "If I see something coming, I'll shout. You should get some shuteye for a change."

I expected Charon to be stubborn and argue, but he nodded instead. I was reminded of the itching in my neck, and I reached up to scratch, blocked by the slave collar. I'd nearly forgotten. "Charon, may I borrow your knife?"

I'd never seen him pull it but I'd always seen it on his belt. I didn't have anything else around to use, and so trying to dismantle it with a blade seemed to be the best idea for the moment. He seemed to get what I was going to do, for he pulled it and shifted closer to me. "Tilt your head."

I did so, but not without significant hesitation. I could feel his breath on my neck when he leaned closer, then I felt the knife as he started to pry away at the collar.

"Lucky the power went out on these."

"Yes." I swallowed.

"Jesus—ah, fucking bugger." His hand brushed away some of my hair as he started to work the blade at another part of the collar, and I felt strange. Like I was about to shiver. My eyes darted towards Gob, who was standing with his back to us a short distance away, and I was thankful for it. I was being exposed, and this was a moment I wanted to keep private.

It wasn't…not attraction. I'm not sure, really. I'd never experienced that. Maybe it was. You need to understand: Charon looked like a corpse—he had no skin, his eyes were cloudy and frightening, he smelled rotten—but…so did I. Looking at me might have been no different. My personality was not exactly celebrated back in the Vault. And I'd never thought of it like that before, but…I just…being close to him. If that makes sense. Just being close felt…it made me feel.

After a few long minutes, the collar clicked, and it fell off of my neck. My hands flew up and rubbed the skin where the collar had been; it was raw and sore but I knew the damage wasn't serious. Shedding the significant weight made me realize how uncomfortable I'd been.

"Thank you," I whispered, but I didn't look at him. I think I was embarrassed, but I have no idea why. It wasn't like he could read my thoughts, but I felt like somehow he had.

"No problem," he muttered back, almost as quietly. "Hey, Gob, come here, I'll take the collar off of you."

It took him only a couple of minutes to work the collar off of Gob, and once it was done, Charon started to prepare himself to rest. I dared a look over at him, but he seemed to be keeping his eyes downcast as he shifted aside and lay back. Gob stood again, then started back towards his spot a few feet away. "Thanks, buddy," he muttered as he walked away, rubbing at his neck as I had. I could see flakes of tissue fall off, but the sight made me grin. It seemed to make him look more innocent, I suppose.

The sun was steadily climbing upwards in the sky, and I leaned down onto my side, trying to get comfortable. I didn't fall asleep for a long time, though. I could still feel his hands and his breath on my neck. I just kept feeling.

*

Gob got me up about six hours later. Let me sleep in a bit much. I hadn't slept that much since I'd been beaten up fifteen to sixteen years back. The first thing I did was look over the boss. She was still sleeping. "I'll give you a few hours," I said, "let her rest up a bit more."

"Sure."

It must've been hours that I was standing there, but it felt like no time had gone by at all. There was nothing out there, not even a mole rat for me to take potshots at. I would've been disappointed any other time, but I was pretty preoccupied. I had a few dreams about the boss, none that I'm too keen on delving in to. Now, before you go jumping to fucking conclusions, it wasn't like that. Well, not all of them. I've never had one before, but I think it's safe to say that I had a nightmare about her. Instead of Jones running from the bomb, it was her, and she had that terrified look on her face for a split second before she disappeared in flames.

I don't know how long she was awake, but she scared the shit out of me when she spoke. "Charon," she said with a voice a mother might use on her child, "what did the slavers mean when they said you were the last of the 'Jersey band'?"

I threw a glance over my shoulder, but I didn't look at her. She simply surprised me. I shifted my weight on my feet, trying to decide if I wanted to talk about it or not.

"They were the people that brainwashed me." I felt like I was betraying someone by saying it.

"Why?"

"Had nothing better to do, I guess."

This was exactly like that night she'd forced my life story out of me. At least, the last-fifteen-years-of-my-life story. I didn't want to look at her, because I knew she'd be looking at me with those big black eyes like some sort of cute bug, waiting to read me out for all I was worth. "That's…"

She didn't finish, but I didn't prompt her. She sounded so sad. I suppose it was sympathy she was trying to give, but she didn't need to finish her sentence. I wasn't the emotional type, so I preferred not to be around that stuff. I was going to tell her about Schafer, and how I started to realize all those unexplainable mannerisms, how he was trying to redeem himself by treating me like a buddy, but I didn't. We left it at that. A few minutes later, she added: "I'm glad you're here."

I felt the word vomit coming up. I was getting softer by the minute. Jesus fucking Christ. "Yeah. Me too."

"Maybe when this is all over," she said hesitantly, "we can stay in Underworld, at least for a little while."

Oh, shit. I'd almost forgot. "Those mercs were hired by some jerk-off in Underworld to take me and Gob back."

"What?" she retorted sharply. I heard Gob recoil a bit, woken up by the sudden volume in her voice. I shifted my feet again, like I was doing a Gob shuffle.

"I don't know how much they trust you."

"I…" Rage was boiling in her voice. She was pissed, just as pissed as I was about it.

"What's going on?" Gob asked wearily.

"Slight change of plans," she said, trying to keep herself in control, "that's all."

"What about Underworld?"

"It's nothing, Gob."

He shut up for a bit. "All right."

After all the commotion in Paradise Falls, I'd nearly forgotten how angry I was about that. I found myself wondering who it was, wondering what the kid wanted to do about it. It sounded for a second like she'd want revenge or something, but I knew she was smarter than that. But. Fuck, man. This was a shitty set-up.


	11. The River Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught between a rock and a hard place. The situation becomes more grave yet.

After about ten minutes, Gob decided he couldn't get back to sleep, so the boss and him scoured through the rest of the boxes, collecting any sort of food they could find, then we headed out. We started off south on the western bank of the Potomac. She had suggested that we didn't walk along the D.C. ruins like last time, and we agreed. She didn't know it there would be a place to cross on the southern end of the river, but she decided the long way to Underworld was the better way. It would probably give her enough time to cool off too, let her decide what exactly she wanted to do about the bounty.

We had just passed the old Super-Duper Mart when early evening set in. I let the boss and Gob walk a few paces ahead, and I could hear them chattering between each other every now and then. Based on my previous experience with her, where she didn't talk at all, this made her look like a chatter box. I didn't know what they talked about. Days spent in holding together gives you a lot of time to get to know one another, I guess. I didn't like it. I think at one point I heard him call her by a name, but he was being too quiet for me to hear it properly. I think it started with an 'S'.

"No," she said, apparently answering a question he'd asked. She didn't speak up, but I could hear the firmness in her voice. "Someone from Underworld sent a contract out for you two. I'm not going there."

"What?" Gob said, his voice louder. "Who the hell would do that?"

She seemed to contemplate this. "Anyone and everyone, I suppose."

"No, I mean, there's got to be some sort of mix up," Gob reasoned, talking with his hands. "It's bullshit! Why wouldn't they just let you get the job done? You weren't even gone two days before they sent the mercs on you!"

"Perhaps it's prejudice. Or my untrustworthy aura." I cracked a grin.

"Ah, they're always so god damned uptight about every smoothskin that walk by—"

The boss stopped, throwing out her hand to stop Gob. I stopped too, straining my ears and looking around warily for what she'd heard. Damn, I was always used to being the perceptive one—nothing got past her. I was going to ask her what she'd heard, but I decided keeping quiet was the smart move. If it was something that important, I'd find out soon enough.

"Something's stalking us," she whispered. She was still looking ahead, but Gob turned his eyes this way and that, trying to see what she did. I let my eyes fall to the ground, and I concentrated on my hearing. Then I heard it; heavy paws padded against the ground, and a heavy, wet breathing went along with it in an ugly rhythm.

"Yao guai," I whispered, shifting my grip on my shotgun, "from the northwest."

"Holy fuck," Gob muttered. I saw his legs tense up, like he really wanted to run, but knew he needed to stay put. If I still thought lowly of him, I would've claimed he was trying to stop himself from shitting his pants.

Now, if you've never seen a yao guai, that explains why you're still alive. Picture a crossbred pre-war wolf and grizzly bear that's possessed by a demon. Besides deathclaws, they're the deadliest bastards out in the Wastes, and if you're being hunted by one, well, might as well do yourself in right there.

"Charon, pass me your knife," the boss said calmly, holding her palm out behind her. I heard the yao guai snarl real loud before I pulled the knife from my belt. I hoped she wouldn't have to use it, but I wasn't about to let her go unarmed either.

I lunged forward a couple of steps, shoved the knife in her hand, then turned on my heel and emptied my rounds. It was charging us down faster than I've ever seen anything move. I saw the boss and Gob rush off to the side, but the yao guai didn't seem to care about either of them. It was closing in fast, and I was walking backwards as fast as I could without fucking up my reload. Just as I pushed the last shell in it took a leap, both claws outstretched, and I threw myself down on my ass and laid back. The ground shook when it crashed. I rolled up and fired the last three shots into it. At this point, any normal living thing would have fallen over dead, but it was still alive. It twisted around and it started towards me again. I started to reload, but I knew I'd be dead before I got the first shell in.

The boss was flying at the yao guai and leapt onto its back. With one quick stab, she planted my combat knife in between its shoulder blades, gripping the handle for all she was worth. It reared up, trying to stand on its hind legs, but it fell forward like a crumbling building. It still had some fight in it, shaking side to side like it was seizing. I'd finally reloaded but held fire, waiting. She wasn't letting go.

Whatever it was rising up was like pinpricks, sharp and noisy and angry. "Boss!" I sounded desperate.

Then she let go or it managed to fling her off.

I blew its fucking brains out. And I kept pulling the trigger after the ammo had gone. Its legs were twitching, its head turning. But it was dead. Dead dead dead.

Ho. Fuck. That thing was a tank.

Right then, though, that wasn't what was going through my mind. I lowered my shotgun and turned towards the boss, panting heavily and squinting at her in confusion.

"What the fuck were you doing?"

"Buying you time." She was just as mad as I was. She got to her feet but didn't stand all the way up. "You were about to be killed."

"Yeah. And so were you."

She didn't seem to understand what I was pissed about. She glared me down. "You were vulnerable. I saw an opening and took it. That's how partnerships work."

"This?" I gestured between us rather gruffly. "This is not a partnership. This is indentured servitude, from me to you. If you're gonna throw some fucking punches, you could at least try not to be a dumbass when fighting!"

I'd overstepped my limits; I'd seen it in her eyes the moment I said that. "Don't argue with me again, Charon," she said icily.

I didn't think she'd pull the mistress card purposefully. Anything warm and fluffy I'd been feeling earlier burned up. I thought she was better than that. The cheating. Fucking. Bitch. "I apologize," my contract responded.

"Gob?" she called out relatively gently. "Let's keep moving."

Gob hadn't cowered behind any rocks, by any means, but he was crouched down to the side, looking out for more yao guais that might have been looking for revenge. It wasn't weakness. If I were unarmed like him, no combat training under my belt, faced with a monster ten times my size, I'd be getting the fuck out of the way too. "You sure you're okay?" he asked, pointing towards her. I looked back at her, noticing her arm wrapped protectively around her ribs.

"I think I fractured something," she admitted, "but there's nothing we can do about that now. We can't stay here."

"Right…if you're sure." He fell into step next to her, mumbling things, probably trying to pull more out of her. I didn't follow right away; I glared at them from behind for a second. I was…fuck. I knew she was pissed at me, probably for yelling at her, making her feel small, but I was tired of Gob filling the spot next to her, muttering all sorts of nonsense. Of course, if he wasn't here, and it was just the two of us, we probably wouldn't be talking anyway. Still, I…fuck. I'm just gonna stop there.

I took my time scowling at their backs before I followed. On the way by I bodily yanked my combat knife from the dead yao guai's back.

*

I was glad to have Gob there at that point in time, for I was unreasonably furious with Charon, and I did not want to be traveling alone with him. I knew he was right, at least partially. But Charon had been reloading. He wasn't ready. He was going to die and I was going to just watch it happen. So of course I risked myself. I'd told myself no more.

But when he chastised me over it? To belittle me like a child when I had saved his life…but he didn't care about that. The only thing he seemed capable of caring about was his contract, that someone was still holding it and that he was still employed.

It was wrong to hate him for that, but I did.

It was dark again, and it became harder to follow the river bank, but a sliver of moonlight was cast upon the Wasteland, and it was much easier to see our way across the desert than it had been the night prior. My ribs began to ache immensely, and I was about to request a break when we caught sight of something large and looming in the distance with a bridge at its feet. I paused, halting the others.

"What is it?" Gob asked.

The faint snap-like sound of a laser gun being fired carried in the distance. It was coming from the open courtyard in the middle of a pentagon-shaped building ahead of us, and it was unmistakable. I had heard of the place through passing, but I'd never thought I'd come across it.

"It's the Citadel," I responded.

"Shit," Gob muttered, "you mean the Brotherhood of Steel?"

"Yes." I could hear unexplained urgency in his voice.

"We're fucked."

The Brotherhood of Steel despised ghouls. I'd not considered that. We needed to cross the river at that bridge, but an entire horde of Knights and Paladins sat waiting for us to crawl by, waiting to open fire on Gob and Charon. No matter what, our advance would be obstructed.

"If we stay low," I said quietly, "there's a chance we can sneak past without being noticed."

Since I knew I'd made it clear that I was angry at him and did not want any arguments, I was surprised to hear Charon speak. "Guards will be patrolling the entire area. We would be engaged in combat."

The way he spoke was mechanic. It was how he was before we worked together. Was that out of spite? I imagined it to be but should have known it was my fault. I gritted my teeth to avoid saying anything uncalled for but I didn't acknowledge him with a glance either. "How do you suggest we make our way towards Underworld?" I waited for a reply from either of my companions, but I was hoping for Gob's.

He did answer, but a sarcastic remark wasn't what I'd wanted to hear. "Maybe we can find a boat and have Charon paddle us across."

"I am not a boat boy," Charon said angrily, in case we decided to be serious about it.

I dug my dirty nails into my palms. "Let's get a move on, then," I snapped, storming forward. If my anger was irrational before, it was encompassing now. I know I said that if I could go back, I wouldn't change a thing, but I wish I had listened to Charon. Then maybe things would have been better for us, at least for a little while.

They trailed behind me, and we started to hug the bank. When we got close enough to be visible, I ducked low, and I only assumed the others followed suit. I caught sight of a paladin with a mini-gun attached to his right side, and I hit the dirt. I couldn't hear any footsteps behind me anymore, so I assumed they paused too.

The paladin had turned in my direction, and I threw my hood over my head, trying to eliminate myself as a target; my bright blonde hair was visible even in this minimal light. I strained my eyes to watch him, but he didn't seem to see me or the others. He turned back away again, slowly, as if he was bored.

We were a safe enough distance away to sneak behind the boulders that stood between the bridge and the Citadel, but it was best to keep low. Even though it was dark, and hard to identify a smoothskin from a ghoul, I had no doubt the Brotherhood would not hold fire. When had I left Underworld, a pair of super mutants chased me towards the Washington Monument, and a knight saw us coming. With bullets flying at my back, I thought the Brotherhood would offer protection, but the knight fired at the super mutant bunker with me still in line of fire. I supposed it was the only way to kill the super mutants, but…I thought I would die. Nurse Graves had told me the super mutants alone attacked me, but I didn't find the need to correct her. I felt where the bullets tore me sometimes, and this uneasy feeling of death would come over me.

Yes, if the Brotherhood saw movement in the night, they would shoot to kill.

I felt like Gob or Charon wanted to call out after me, but no one dared make a sound as we crawled along the ground cautiously. I stayed low, taking my time to get to the bridge. It was close, and it seemed we'd get by without being seen, but I knew better than to take my chances. After a few minutes, I had crawled halfway along the bridge, and I decided it was necessary to look back. Both of them were following behind me, low as I was. We were almost there.

"Over there!" a knight yelled, and I could hear the faint sound of a mini-gun start to turn. I gasped, and scrambled to my feet.

"Run!" I screamed. I started off down the bridge as fast as I could, ignoring the burning in my ribs. That familiar fluttering feeling filled me again. I would die. At any second, I'd be ripped apart by five millimeter bullets again, and this time there was no nurse or doctor to repair the damage. I could hear Gob and Charon running behind me, and I felt a slight comfort at knowing they were there with me in my final moments, until I heard one of them call out.

I couldn't afford to stop running but I did. The bullets stopped, probably for the knight to reload the gun. I peered through the dark, and I saw Gob lying across the bridge, Charon running up behind him.

I ran back. "Charon, help him!" I wasn't so sure if he would pause to save the other ghoul or not unless I ordered it. Charon came to a stop beside Gob, knelt down, and picked him up roughly. Gob called out in agony, and struggled to plant his feet on the ground. His front was soaked with blood. He was alive, but that wasn't saying much. Charon had slung Gob's arm over his shoulder and started to pull him along at a quick pace when the bullets started to fire again. I moved forward, running slightly ahead of them, trying to space us out and make us a harder target to hit. The knight was far away, but we were still within range, and Gob and Charon were slower and easier to kill when they were slung over each other. We reached the end of the bridge and started towards the collapsed freeway that offered a path into the ruins of D.C. The shots ceased after that, but my shock still remained. Gob was injured, oh, God, he was completely covered in blood—

"We need to bring him to a doctor," I asserted, pausing to let Charon catch up, "or find medical supplies, at the very least."

"No shit," he barked back through pants, pulling Gob along at a brisk pace. Old Charon was back. Didn't I need to order him to be like that? The injured man kept growling and groaning, trying to suppress his show of agony. "We'll stop when we find a building that isn't boarded up. We can't make it to Underworld like this."

I breathed deeply, and a hand flew to my ribs. The sting didn't seem that strong after seeing Gob's condition, but the fear of seeing him like that was more prevalent. I kept in pace with Charon's long strides, running across the long bridge that was littered with old vehicles. We would make it, we could make it…

I'd found a discarded jacket on the road and tied it around Gob's middle to slow the bleeding. That gave us time to run through the eerily empty streets of downtown D.C. Gob's growls and grunts were becoming fewer, but it wasn't because the pain was softening. His blood was drenched all over him now, and it covered most of Charon too. At one point, Charon paused to shift Gob from his side onto his back when Gob stopped moving his legs. Gob yelled, but that was a good thing—it meant he was still awake, he was still alive. I wished I still had stimpaks on me, I wished I had anything that would help him. Oh, God, please…

We climbed the short hill that led from the tall ruins, and I paused at the top, wrapping an arm around my middle again, waiting for Charon to catch up. He was panting a lot now, and I could see blood drip from the tips of Gob's fingers from where they lay draped over Charon's shoulders.

I looked out from the top of the hill, and I could see a large building looming a short distance away. "What is it?" I asked as Charon came up behind me.

I continued alongside him when he strode past, and he glanced into the distance. "Jefferson Memorial."

"Should we stop there?" I watched as Gob's head draped over Charon's shoulder and bob up and down with his quick steps.

"Yeah."

I kept mumbling to Gob from beside Charon, impulsively checking to make sure he was responsive. We clambered around the broken road to the long stretch that led to the memorial, and I soon found myself shaking Gob's shoulder, talking about nonsense things, like my conversation with Carol, how I met Charon, and so on. I could see him smile weakly through the dark at me, and I smiled back. My voice was shaking.

When we approached the memorial, I ran ahead, looking for an entrance in the dark. I had taken Charon's knife again, just to have something to defend myself with. He had muttered something about super mutants likely being there, but there was nothing. A large ramp that led up a row of large pipes that went on and on. There had been some huge operation here. Along it I eventually found the door.

"Over here!" I called. When he got closer, I kicked it in. The air was heavy, the scent of mold overpowering. I coughed and scarcely breathed, but pushed on anyway. I held the knife tightly in my hand, sweat dripping from the handle. It wasn't because I was afraid of being attacked in the dark. Lurking creatures be damned. It never was about me.

We came to a T-intersection in the hall, and I rushed through the gift shop to our right. There were a few fortifications lining the room, leaving evidence that battles had been fought here. A single light could be seen from a storage closet to my left, and I ran inside, looking for any medical supplies. I tore things off of the shelves, throwing scrap metal and junked parts to the ground, looking for anything useful. There was nothing. "Dammit!" I screamed, kicking a toolbox I had thrown to the ground.

"Boss!" Charon called, and I looked out into the dark gift shop before I ran after his voice. I found him standing by another light in the short distance, looking to me from a door. "Open this for me, will you?"

At the time I didn't even pause to think about the fact that he had just asked something of me. I dashed forward, and I opened the door, letting him in. "There might be more doors to open down here," he said as he descended the stairs into the basement. Gob moaned into Charon's shoulder, and I touched his back, maybe just to let him know I was there. To make him hold on.

We came to the bottom of the steps, and we found ourselves in a generator room. The middle was fenced off. A few individually powered lights scattered the room, and Charon approached the fence, peering down to the floor below. "There's water down there," Charon said, then he turned his body to look at me. "I'll put him in the water—the rads might help."

Radiation, in small doses, was beneficial to people who had already become ghouls from overexposure. It often helped them heal, at just the right dosage. "Do it," I said.

"You look for meds, then meet me down there."

I started running around the room, tearing things around like I had in the storage closet. Scientific charts and test tubes were scattered all over the place, but this didn't catch my attention right away. Gob. Gob Gob Gob. Please don't die.

I found nothing.

I was starting to cry and wiped at my face roughly. Crying was what the weak did, those who did nothing to help the situation. I ran down the next set of steps where Charon had disappeared.

At the bottom of the next set of stairs was an open room filled with bunk beds. I opened all the footlockers, checked all the tables and cabinets, but there was still no medicine in sight. I was cursing lividly now, but it only fueled me on faster. I ran down the short hall from the room, and I peered through the closest doorway there. I came into an operating room; the monitors were still functioning. A small tray stood beside the bed in the middle of the room with clean, neatly sorted medical tools arranged on top. I saw a stimpak gleaming in the faint light form the monitors, and I rushed forward, plucking it hastily from the tray before I ran down the rest of the hall, toward the cisterns that Charon had taken Gob to.

It was dark but light from the room above washed down over us, and I could see Charon kneeling down by one of the pools. He had submerged Gob up to the neck, and he held onto him by his armpits, making sure he didn't sink down and drown. I knelt down beside Charon, and I showed him the stimpak. "Use it," he said, and I pulled the plunger back, tapped the syringe, then jabbed the needle into Gob's neck. He mumbled a little, but he barely reacted to the pinch from the needle. Injecting him made me feel immediately better. I tossed the syringe aside, and when I did I noticed that the majority of the water had already turned red with Gob's blood.

I must have said something aloud out of surprise, because Gob chuckled weakly, and said: "That's no way for a lady to talk."

"Gob?" I said, reaching down to touch his shoulder. My hand covered Charon's, but I didn't care. "How are you feeling?"

"A little light headed," he admitted, rolling his head to the side towards me, "but other than that, I'm dandy."

I laughed and found myself crying again. I did not allow myself to cry in front of others. I never felt the overwhelming need to. But he was alive, on the mend. This was crying from relief, unbelievably wonderful relief. I gave his shoulder and Charon's hand a light squeeze. "That must mean you're taking to the drugs."

"Nah," he said with a half-hearted snort, "haven't you heard? Ghouls need the hard shit, you humans are the lightweights. I could keep taking this stuff all day and…nnh."

I leaned closer, my muscles tensing up. Gob's head dipped forward a bit, then he lifted it slightly. "Hey, you think when I get patched up, you could hire someone to deliver a letter to Megaton for me?"

I nodded, though he possibly couldn't see the gesture. "Of course," I said, sounding too cheerful. "For Nova, right?"

"Yeah," he said, and I could see him smile. "She'd lose her shit if she could see the things I've been through in the past few days."

I laughed again, but it was more weak, more worried than the first. "I bet," I mumbled, squeezing him with my hand again. Gob tilted his head back to lean on the side of the cistern. His eyes were open and a gentle smile was on his face. "I think I'm feeling better already." He moved his arms under the red murky water to his stomach. "It doesn't hurt so much anymore."

I felt a large load of relief wash over me. "Good!" A few tears escaped down my cheeks. Oh, thank God, I thought. I made eye contact with him, and he smiled at me gently, closing his eyes. "Mmm, I'd like to be sleeping in one of Carol's beds right now, that's for sure."

"They are quite comfortable." I felt the need to keep him talking. The elation was too much to keep contained, so chatting came easy. We had made it, Gob was safe now. "I'll bet they'll be glad to have you back," I added in conversation, thinking on the contract that had been sent to the Talon company. My anger on their betrayal of me was completely gone; I didn't care if they wanted to take Gob and Charon from me before I could deliver them, for my friend was all right. They could take him back now.

"You know…" Gob said, trailing off. I was still smiling and the tears from before were still sliding down my cheeks as I waited for him to finish his thought.

A few moments had passed, and I prompted him. "Gob?" I said, shaking my hand over Charon's to try and catch his attention. His eyes were closed, and his faint smile was still on his lips. It looked like he had fallen asleep.

"Gob?" Charon said. He shook him.

"Let him rest," I suggested, looking over to Charon through the dark. But I could see the expression on his face as he peered down at his fellow ghoul, and he shook his head slightly as he tried to stir the injured man again.

"Gob?"

The smile on my face faded. Gob's head bobbed lightly with the ripples, and his body floated with an eerie stillness in the red-fogged waters.

Neither of us moved. Charon still held Gob's body in the water by his shoulders, and I still held my hand over Charon's. I shifted my eyes to a nonspecific point in the pool after a while, when I found I couldn't look at Gob's serene-like face anymore.

I don't know how much time passed, but eventually Charon let go of Gob's shoulders, and I watched from the corner of my eye as his body sank from view. I moved my hand away once Gob's body was gone, but both of us stayed kneeling by the pool. I thought that Charon felt indifference to everything, but he stayed crouched with me for a long time, neither of us saying a word.

I didn't know what to do after that.


	12. From Acheron to Inferno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The employer discovers shocking information. A drastic action is taken.

"Hey, Charon," Schafer said, throwing another twig into the fire. I looked up from tuning my shotgun (which Schafer had scrapped together from various parts we'd scavenged) and watched him, waiting for him to keep going. He was kind of staring into the fire absentmindedly, his brow furrowed together like he was concentrating real hard on something.

"Yeah?" I said, trying to get him to snap out of it.

He didn't really respond, but he went to picking his teeth with a small piece of twig. He shook his head, grunting a bit as he concentrated on what he wanted to say.

"You really don't remember anything from before I found you? In Paradise Falls, that is?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Mm," he mumbled, then resorted to chewing on the twig. When he started to take apart his laser pistol and look through it, I went back to my shotgun. I'd only been with Schafer for about a week, but I was starting to get a feel for who he was, and this wasn't like him. He usually was very talkative, and he tried to get more than a couple of words out of me constantly. All of the sudden, after we set up camp and started to make the fire, he got quieter than he'd been since I met him.

"I've done things I'm not proud of," he admitted, throwing the twig into the flames. I moved my eyes to him from the shotgun again, trying to get a feel of the situation. He glanced up at me for a second, the corner of his lip drawing up a bit before he looked away again. "Sometimes, I wish I could forget my past."

"Oh." I was pretty fucking confused. I also wasn't into the whole buddy-buddy bonding idea. I wanted to keep to myself, but it seemed like Schafer was fishing for any sort of statement. So, I sighed a bit, then flipped my gun over on my lap. "What'd you do?" I asked, testing the water. After I'd found out what kind of power that contract had on me, I wasn't too keen on crossing the guy who held it. Schafer just snorted though, a kind of lame laugh.

"That's a different story."

He wanted to open up to me, but he wasn't willing to get his feet wet. Well, if that was the case, I hoped he'd just leave it be. I took more interest in my shotgun. Schafer sighed, then I saw him shake his head from the corner of his eye. "Hey, man, I know I've got this contract," he said, waving the paper in the air, "but I want you to forget about it. I'll never use it against you, I promise."

"I'm not sure I understand," I tempted, waiting for him to delve into it. It's not like I could just "forget about it." That thing was me. He sighed again, folded the thing up, then stuck it back into his satchel.

"I want to think of you as a…friend, not a goddamned tool," he said, giving the bag a shove with his foot. "Just…I don't know…don't be afraid to be yourself, I guess."

I let it roll around in my mind before I dared answer. "All right," I mumbled, shrugging. "I guess." I still wasn't entirely sure what it was I was supposed to be doing differently.

"Good," he said, giving me another weak smile. He picked up another twig, then tossed it in. "Good."

I never put much thought to it then. Now that I remember, I suppose Schafer was a sort of father figure to me when I was in the band. Yeah, I mean, I was brainwashed, and he was part of some evil fucking shit, but he was always the good one in comparison. He really was trying to get me to forgive him, although I didn't know what for at the time. Now, I kind of regret that he died, to be honest.

We spent the rest of the night in the memorial. The boss got up first to go, and I followed behind her a few seconds later. We got back to the room full of bunk beds, and she picked the farthest one in the corner. I didn't see a need to stand watch, but I didn't fall asleep either. I lay awake on the bunk closest to the stairwell, just in case some raider came down those steps during the night. I'm not entirely sure, but I think she might've started crying again. Normally, I would've felt awkward at this, but this time I just listened, thinking. It was pretty fucking depressing, and if I were anybody else, I'd be just as sad as she was. To this day I can still remember how he felt under my hands, floating in the water, and what it looked like when I let him sink down into the dark, disappearing so easily. Man, I fucked up. I wasn't just beating myself up over it, I was also mad that we'd lost him to those Brotherhood bitches. I couldn't have expected any less from them, but…fuck, why Gob?

I fell asleep again without noticing, and the only thing I could remember was picturing the boss's face a lot. It was drawn, her silvery blonde hair clean and straight around her face and shoulders. Just before I woke up, she was trying to say something to me.

I didn't know what time it was, but my eyes still flew to where she'd been sleeping, just to see if she'd woken up before me. She wasn't there, and my mind started to jump to the worst. Grabbing my shotgun from beside my bed, I started back to the room with the cisterns. I found her leaning over the pool opposite where Gob had died. Her face and hair were wet, suggesting that she'd washed herself, and she was holding her long blonde locks back as she puked into the water. I stood there in the doorway, watching her get sick over and over. I wanted to help her, but I didn't think there was anything I could do. When she stopped, she stayed sitting on her knees, breathing deep and slow. After a while, she let go of her hair, and let it drop over her face. She didn't move for the longest time. "Boss?" I said quietly, and she turned toward me, looking up at me through the dark. Her face looked like it did in my dream, but it was so much more…empty.

After that, we both ate in silence in the bunk room, not looking at the other. We sat opposite each other, looking at the floor.

"I don't look anything like my father," she said in a small voice. I looked up at her, noticing how her arms wrapped around her ribs, how she winced with each breath she took. When she saw me looking at her, she shook her head a bit. "He claimed I had his face, but I think I'm more like my mother."

I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say. "There were a few old pictures we had stored away at home, in Vault 101," she explained, drawing her feet closer to the bunk and trying to sit up straight. The moment she straightened out her middle, she grimaced hard again, and sank back down into her hunched position, favouring her right side. "She had the same bright blonde hair and dark brown eyes as I do, but we had polarized dispositions. In all of her photos, she's smiling, and she looks so happy…if it wasn't for our physical resemblance, I would claim that I wasn't my parents' child."

I studied her as she said all of this to me. I wasn't sure why she was mentioning it, but I figured it had something to do with the fact that she'd watched her friend die while she couldn't do anything. I just let her talk. Maybe that's all she needed. "My mother was so passionate and kind, and my father is determined and good-willed…I don't know where I went wrong. I would like to say I have noble intentions, just like them, but everything I try to accomplish, everyone I try to help, they…"

Her head sunk a little lower. "I'm not fit for anyone."

After that, we were silent again, and she just got up and wandered off, limping lightly as she climbed the stairs behind me. I knew I should've gone up there and consoled her or some shit like that, but what was I supposed to do? My social skills were pretty shitty, and as much as I felt for her, I felt just the same as she did: if I tried to help, I'd probably end up making things worse.

I spent a good half hour sitting in the basement. I rubbed the back of my flaky neck, and after a lot of deliberation, I decided I'd go up the stairs and look for her, just to make sure she would be all right. Maybe I'd ask her what she wanted to do next, just to get her mind off of Gob for a while. Maybe I'd get her into finding her dad again.

When I got up to the museum level, she wasn't there. I looked around the gift shop a bit, but I didn't find a trace of her. All I could see were test stations for some sort of scientific experiment. The closest I'd ever come to understanding science was taking ultra jet with Ahzrukhal, so I didn't even bother poking around. Someone was trying to test something, that's all I can tell you. It pretty much looked like they all gave up one day and just left, though. I was poking around one of the stations when I looked up and saw the door to the rotunda.

I pushed open the door, stepping in quietly. Inside, there was this huge circular room built on top of another pool of water. I didn't see the boss, but I could hear someone talking. It was a man's voice. Of course, I got all defensive at this—I wasn't one for trust, especially not for someone who was lurking about in the old Jefferson Memorial. I pulled my shotgun and I started up the short wrought iron steps.

When I got to the top, I could see that the entire rotunda was converted into some sort of control room. There were monitors and old computers everywhere. I assumed that it was from the same people who'd set up the experimenting stations up all over the museum, and I felt a little weirded out, for some reason. I could hear the man's voice drifting from around the bend, and I approached cautiously, but something felt off. It wasn't like there was a man talking to the boss, but his voice was recorded and being played back or something. When I got closer, I could see her sitting on the floor, clutching her Pip-Boy in front of her face. Her back was to me, but I could tell she was on edge, or at the very least, excited about what she was listening to. When I stopped a few feet behind her, I caught the last of the recording.

"…well-hidden in some sort of garage…but I'll find it. I have to. I'm so close, but that's the story of Project Purity, isn't it? An eternity of almost theres…"

There was more, but I didn't catch it. I was watching her, trying to figure out the situation. When it ended, the kid lowered her arm, and stayed seated on the ground for a long time. She turned around and looked at me. I didn't know anything about what she was listening to, but I started to make some assumptions once I caught the look on her face. It was worse than the crying. I looked away, then started back out of the rotunda, my shotgun held loosely in my right hand. She needed time to be alone. There wasn't anything I could do for her, anyway. If I could tell it to her now, I'd say sorry. Fuck…that was a shitty time.

My Pip-Boy read six in the evening, and I'd decided I'd spent enough time sitting in the control room of Project Purity. When I found my father's holotapes unexpectedly, I should have been elated. I finally found where my father had been. In his recordings he said where he was going and why. Jefferson Memorial had been their project headquarters. I'd been born here. This place was our life's work. Everything I'd been looking for from the beginning was here. But I felt defeated somehow.

I'd failed so many already. How could I go to him now? I felt my only place was by his side, but I felt I wouldn't be able to walk in his shadow, not anymore. Not now that I knew how incapable I was. I'd made the decision that cost a life. I couldn't face my father with that. I couldn't even face myself. Self-wallowing is a weakness, let alone completely foolish, but I couldn't stop. When I saw Charon look down at me and turn away, I felt torn. I was hoping he would say something, but it was wishful thinking. It was a blow, though, to have him leave me alone. That was how I should have stayed from the start: on my own.

I returned to the basement and I found him sitting on a bunk bed, tuning his shotgun. When he saw me coming, he pointed to the table in the middle of the room. "I found some more stimpaks for you," he grunted quietly, "just in case your ribs are giving you hell."

"Thank you," I said quietly, pointedly looking at the floor. I felt ashamed to show my face, I think. I felt like he was judging me. It was an irrational thought, but I couldn't help but get trapped in my own head, watching Gob sink to the bottom of the pool and hearing Charon's silence.

I picked up a stimpak and turned away to a hidden nook in the room. I lifted up my hoodie gently, which felt like I was tearing loose skin off.

My entire right side was black and blue. A distinctive sore could be seen where I'd struck the ground after the yao guai threw me off its back. I'd claimed it to be a simple fracture, but it was worse than I wanted it to be.

After appraising the damage, I stuck the stimpak in my lower side (which hurt immensely) and injected it. It would have to do until I could find a doctor living in a town that wasn't likely to have one of my many enemies in it.

I decided I would spend the night in the memorial before departing west to find my father. He said in his notes that he'd left behind that he was going to look for memoirs left behind from a man living in Vault 112 in order to help Project Purity function. The notes weren't specific on what the project was about, but I could only assume it was for clean drinking water for the entire Wasteland.

Of course.

Revelation 21:6: I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life, freely.

My mother's favourite passage. Her dream. No wonder my father left Vault 101 behind for this project. He wanted to finish what he'd started before I was born. Even my very life interrupted the wills of others. I was merely a burden on everyone, including my father.

As I leaned against the wall of the nook, I listened to the sounds of Charon tuning his shotgun. Charon. He and Gob truly had been comforts for me in the last few days of my seemingly never-ending journey. I felt better having the bitter man around, and I felt better once I'd befriended Gob in the slave pen. I cared about them. I cared. Now that Gob was gone, I…

Charon set part of the shotgun back together with a click. It was a well-oiled machine, every cog correctly placed, never failing in its duty. He took good care of it so that he could fulfill his contract.

His contract.

I rounded the corner from the nook, sitting down on the bunk across from Charon. I saw him hesitate ever so slightly as he flickered his eyes from the gun to me, but he quickly continued his work. He'd started a fire in an old barrel that he'd dragged in between the bunks.

Finally I looked up at Charon, watching him fiddle with a specific part on the barrel. I wasn't going to avert my eyes anymore. He deserved more than that.

He was resolutely avoiding looking at me. "Charon."

He paused and looked up, staring at me like he was boring holes into me, just like he had back in the Ninth Circle. He waited for me to continue, so I asked: "When you were with Schafer, did you enjoy his company?"

He looked like he was planning a very clever response, and his eyes searched the ground for a moment. "Yeah, I did." He seemed quiet, distant, like he was trying to be gentle with me, just in case I'd become breakable.

I felt my heart quicken when I started my next question. "And me?" I said, averting my eyes purposefully. "Do you enjoy my company?"

I wondered if his contract would make him bend the truth. After a while, I looked back up, and I saw him staring at me. "Yeah," he said, slower, quieter, "I do."

I was convinced that he had hated my presence since he first laid eyes on me. Even if he was lying…it felt good to hear it. It also stung. He was yet another person I had to disappoint. "I've found out where my father has gone. He went far out into the west, to Vault 112."

"That's where we're headed, then?"

"No."

His hands rested on either end of the gun, and he looked back at me intently. I diverted my eyes to the fire, and I flexed my jaw. "I'm going alone."

"You hold my contract," he said, as if I had somehow forgotten this fact. "I'm required to be within reasonable distance of you at all times."

I reached inside the gap of my Pip-Boy and withdrew the contract. It was old, weathered paper, and it had quite clearly seen a lot of years. But it was strong too. The integrity still held; I could tell it could withstand quite a bit. Even so. It was just a piece of paper. "Your contract…it means a lot to you."

"Yes," he answered with a clipped tone, his hands tightening slightly on the shotgun.

"It represents the greater part of your life. It represents your torture. The chains…" I dared to look up at him. "It's given you so much grief. I feel like I am this contract. For you, for others. I've nothing good to offer anyone."

He seemed concerned, and I suppose he had the right to be. I stood from the bed, staring intently into his eyes. I wanted to take every last moment I could, I wanted to remember this image of him, watching me. I considered that what I was about to do could destroy him, but somehow I knew it would be better for him, better for both of us. I would redeem him, redeem myself, and though I would be alone, I would remember that he enjoyed my company. He was my friend.

I dropped the contract in the fire.

*

I thought she was acting odd, even for her, but when that paper touched the flames, I didn't give a shit. I felt like something just stabbed me in the gut and twisted my insides around. My breath froze and my head exploded—my contract, fuck, my contract! FUCK!

I jumped up from the bed, pieces of my shotgun flying everywhere. The boss charged me. If she surprised me by dropping my contract in the fire—my contract, half of my fucking identity—she surprised me more by ramming her shoulder hard into my chest. My hands came down hard on her shoulders, and I tried to throw her to the side, but she hooked her leg in between mine and grasped the front of my leather armour, tripping me down on top of her.

I yelled this real feral yell, like I'd actually turned into one of those mindless zombies, and I forced my hands and knees up on either side of her, pulling myself back up. She kept herself attached to my front, and I grabbed her by the hair, yanking her off me. I knew that with my contract, grabbing at her like that would've caused me hell, but it didn't right then. She wasn't my mistress anymore. She didn't hold my contract. It was burning, oh fucking Christ, it was burning! I'd dive into that barrel to get it out and burn myself before I'd let this kid stop me. The insanity was pulling me away again, and I needed to save my contract, I'd kill her to get to my contract, for fuck's sake. Her scream was muted by the buzzing in my ears—the contract burning was louder.

When I'd yanked her to the side, I practically jumped to the barrel again, reaching out to try and save the burning paper. Before I could grab it she put her foot in front of mine from behind and shoved me forward forcefully. She wasn't strong, but she knew how to spar. I tripped forward into the bunk bed, yelling out again. I pushed away from the bed frame and launched myself back, and her foot connected with my middle. I leaned over, winded, but I wasn't stopping. Nor was she—she kicked the barrel over, the fiery contents spilling onto the concrete floor with a loud clank. I threw her aside as I made for the fire but she grabbed my wrist, trying to pull me back. I rounded on her, clenching my fist and swiping at her jaw. She ducked and pivoted behind me. She let go of my wrist and jumped onto my back, wrapping an arm around my neck and jabbing me in my weak spots.

I tried to clamber toward the fire, but her strikes made me fall. I didn't think it would do that much, but I couldn't even stay on my feet when she hit my sides. When I fell she kept striking all parts of me, but with a wild shove I flung her off. She hung onto me just barely as I got to my feet, and I could feel her trying to scramble back up to deal me another blow. I was like a fucking rabid dog at this point, and I wasn't about to let her stop me from saving myself. So when she climbed on up for a ride, I gave her one, and fell backward, dead weight.

I crushed her. I heard her other ribs crack. She couldn't hold on anymore.

I didn't waste any time—I scrambled to the pile of embers on the floor. I threw burned crap everywhere, trying to find my contract. Most things were starting to simmer down into sparks, pieces of burnt scrap and ash simmered everywhere, but I couldn't find my contract anywhere. Oh, fuck me. It was gone. It was actually fucking gone.

I can't really describe to anyone properly what that felt like. It was heavy, it was dark, and it came in charging. I felt every torture I'd ever been put through during conditioning. I was tearing out what little hair I had left to stop the pain. I didn't think it was possible, but this was much, much fucking worse than when I'd lost my contract on both accounts. Each time, I'd seen it in the boss's hands again, and she saved me from my hell. This time, she'd caused it, and she couldn't stop it this time. I was going to die, there was no way I couldn't live through this. Oh, fuck, it was so heavy, so dark—I needed to get out! The first thought that came to me was red hot anger, and I clung to it like stink clings to rotting flesh on a ghoul, and I rounded from the pile of burnt remains on the ground, pouncing on top of her. I pulled my knife, fucking roared in her face, pinned her chest and pressed my blade under her throat.

I wanted to yell a few choice words to her, but all I could manage was that wild howl. She looked like she was dead on the ground, but I could feel her heartbeat under my hand. I wanted to slice her throat open, take her life like she'd taken mine. She knew exactly what that contract meant—hell, she'd even chatted about it like someone would about how to cook radroach meat, but she still dropped it into the fire, she still burned me, sent me to hell. Was she trying to be a saint? I just wanted to kill the sorry bitch right then and there, but I just kept yelling into her face, and my knife shook in my hand from under her chin.

Her thin hand came around my wrist gently, and her eyes opened halfway. Her mouth parted a bit, like she was going to say something, but she stayed silent. I don't know when it happened, but I'd stopped yelling. The void was still sucking me in, but when I looked her in the eye, things in reality became painfully more obvious to me, like the way she was looking at me, the way that I felt about her. I could notice that I was hovering on top of her, my hand was clamped down on her chest and moved with her breathing, and that I couldn't kill her and couldn't and couldn't.

I pulled my wrist from her hand and chucked the knife across the room with one last yell. I drew into a ball like I was imploding. My contract is gone, my contract is gone, oh, fuck, what do I do without my contract? Why the fuck did you do this to me?

Time compressed. I didn't know what time it was or how long I'd been there. Without sunlight or lack thereof, I didn't know if I was there for hours or for days. The pressure was so much, so possessive and crippling. I couldn't find myself. I felt like I'd already died, and I was just wandering around hell, waiting for someone to come show me where to go. I was still waiting for my contract, and every time I'd hear a voice say it's gone and I'd relieve the shit again and again. I didn't want to be, and I just wanted to get out, but I didn't know how—

I thought I'd spend the rest of my life curled up in a pathetic little ball. After a while, the reminder that my contract only made me twinge a bit. Sometimes I even had my own thoughts. Eventually I started to unfurl from my little ball. I think the contract started to fade out, which was a big fuckin' surprise. "Big fuckin' surprise…" That was my own thought, wasn't it? And I'd said it aloud?

My neck was stiff as slate, so I slowly looked up. I was still in the bunk room in the Jefferson Memorial, not in hell. The barrel was still toppled over from where she had kicked it, and the ashes had long since gone cold and black. It was hard to breathe evenly, but I tried to force myself into a proper rhythm before I tried relaxing my arms and legs. After a while, I could stand, and I stayed still for a while, just trying to get myself back together. It took a long time before I felt like I'd returned to something closer to normality. I still felt wounded, like there was a huge gash in my side (except it was in my sanity) but the huge black hole of hell seemed far away now. It still hurt sometimes, but not nearly as much. There was a noticeable hole, and it was too fucking terrifying to look into. It was hard, but…I could ignore it. If I didn't think about it too hard, it was okay. I was okay. I was…alone.

She wasn't lying where I'd left her. How long ago had that been? An hour or a week? I looked around slowly a bit, thinking I might see her somewhere else in the room.

"I've found out where my father has gone. He went far out into the west, to Vault 112."

"That's where we're headed, then?"

"No. I'm going alone."

Now that I was on my feet again, and I could remember my last conversation with her, it was easier to see why she did what she did. She'd been through a lot of crap, and she probably was hoping she'd be doing me a favour by getting rid of my other half and leaving me behind. At the time, it wasn't. It still wasn't now. I was really fucking unstable, even though I was feeling like heaven at that moment in comparison to the hell before. Maybe, in the long run, it would be best for me. She'd made me a free person to my own devices. But she didn't know that was going to happen. I still didn't know. Full of some real great fucking surprises, she was.

I didn't have to follow her anymore; she didn't have my contract, nor did my contract exist. It made me uneasy, but I kept thinking about her, just to keep things sane. Now, I was still right fucking pissed with her, but I was able to calm down once I thought about her face, how she looked with my knife to her throat. I wish…I wish I hadn't done that.

She obviously didn't want me coming with her, probably because she was full of guilt over Gob's death or some shit like that, but I didn't care what she was rationalizing with at this point. Just like going on that trek to look for my contract had made me feel more comfortable with existing, going after her seemed to be the only thing I actually wanted to do now.

I went around the room, collecting pieces of my shotgun and putting them back together. When it was reassembled, I picked up the rest of my supplies, cleaned myself off a bit, ate some rations, then left the memorial. I wasn't an expert on tracking, but I'd hoped that she hadn't gotten too far from the ruins for me to pick up her trail.

When I got outside, it was dark. I traveled down south of the river a bit, trying to avoid both D.C. and the Citadel. There was a dry part on the Potomac, and I crossed, heading west. I could only hope she'd gone the same way I was going. The more I thought about catching up with her, the better I felt. Like going back to something real.


	13. Friendship is an Enigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon follows his friend's trail.

I passed out on the cold hard floor in the subbasement of the Jefferson Memorial. The last thing I remembered was watching Charon draw himself into a small ball. I knew what I was doing was…not wrong, but…egregious. To get out of the worst of things, you often had to go further down. He needed to be broken before he could live. I just didn't think he would…he didn't kill me, but he could have. I still felt immense fear and guilt as I drifted off into unconsciousness, though. What if I was wrong?

When I woke up, Charon was still in the same place a few feet away from me, but he didn't show any signs of realizing I was there. I sat up on my elbows, wincing slightly as I did. I was wracked with pain. I had no idea how long I'd been lying there, but the pain in my ribs and my chest were still vibrant. When he landed on top of me, I felt more than one thing break at once. My throat was on fire where he'd pressed the blade to my skin. And his heated eyes on me…He had enjoyed my company and I threw it away willingly, for his sake.

I hurt all over, and it was hard to move, but I couldn't stay here anymore. When my feet were planted firmly on the ground and I stood as tall as I could, I collected one more stimpak from the table before I left the room. I couldn't bring myself to look at Charon before I left.

The stimpak helped, but I still felt weak and drained. I started up the stairs slowly, but each step I took away from him felt like a goodbye. Maybe I'd get the chance to see him again some day once my notoriety died away. Perhaps I'd get the chance to explain myself. However…it would be best if I never saw him again. I only hoped he would live.

When I left the memorial, it was afternoon. I must have been unconscious for nearly a day. I stood on the spot, weighing my options. I thought it would be best to stick to the open Wastes rather than travel near the Citadel again. I started south down the river, constantly looking out for others. I was unarmed now and extremely vulnerable. Luckily, I saw no one and was not attacked.

About a mile or so down the bank of the Potomac, the river ran dry, and I was able to cross. Old vehicles and artifacts lined the river's bare floor, and I manoeuvred around them carefully, not because I didn't want to disturb them, but because I felt that I was treading on dangerous chances, and if I made one mistake I would fall and stay down. I reached the other side quickly, and I departed west again, heading for that garage my father had spoken of. There I would find the entrance to Vault 112. I could only hope that that was where he would still be. Since nearly two months had gone by since he had made those recordings, I only assumed he had moved on, but I still hoped I could stop looking and put everything behind me.

Hours went by, and I started to feel more sore and sick. The horizon seemed to be crawling farther away from me. I was thirsty, hungry, and very tired, despite the fact I had had several hours of rest. The sun was extremely hot as well, and it worked against me, beating me with waves of heat. My fingers and toes were tingling; an uneasy feeling resided in my stomach. I hoped that wherever I was going had the means necessary to treat me. I'd never felt this depleted. Being shot was a horrific pain, but it was sharp and instant, and this…

Perhaps I was arrogant to think I was cut out for survival. Perhaps, after all that had happened before, I'd just gotten lucky with everything.

I could see Tenpenny Tower looming in the distance. I'd never been this far west, so I had never seen it before, but I heard several stories of the notorious apartment complex from across the greater D.C. area. I planned to keep clear of it out of principle. It dressed itself as an accommodating centre for civility, but I was certain my luck would come to a crashing end in Tenpenny's abode. But as I travelled farther west, I felt closer to desperation than I could ever remember, and I seriously considered begging for sanctuary at the gates. It was likely that I wouldn't make it to Vault 112 in a day. I would have to find some refuge, somewhere to recuperate…

I accidentally tripped over my own feet, and I stumbled forward onto my hands and knees. My breath came in like being sucked through a straw and left with a high-pitched wheeze. I could feel another wave of nausea coming on, and I clumsily brushed my hair over to one side before the sick came pouring from my mouth. I had become so used to vomiting that the feeling was somehow muted. As I spit out the last of it, I started to climb to my feet again, but my knees wobbled dangerously, and I collapsed a few feet away. Instead of landing on my hands and knees this time, though, I fell heavily onto my side, but the ground felt soft, like my body had gone numb and I could no longer feel.

I tried to pull myself up into a sitting position at the least, but my arms shook with the effort. Worry hadn't been a threat before then.

I thought about all that had happened then, all the people I had failed. I wondered when Carol would learn of her son's ill fate. I thought on Amata, whose father had been stolen from her by my hand, and how she was living her life now. I could see the faces of the fallen in Paradise Falls, the eyes of the accusing when I ran from Megaton. My father's smiling face was starting to fade in my memory. Even his voice sounded strange to me when I had played the recordings.

Then I thought of Charon. I gasped as a knifing pain shot up my ribs, and I was certain it was from despair instead of injury. He was the last friend I had, and I sacrificed it for his future. Would I die with him hating me? Would he ever know that…Charon…

As I lay in the dirt, my thoughts started to drift from the dark to the heartwarming. There was a permanent tickle in my throat that made me cough every other breath, but a small smile came to my lips despite the discomfort. I thought about the way he would strut behind me silently, always holding his gun like all he wanted to do was fire it constantly. I could remember my hand placed gently on his chest with his gun in my face; the way it felt when he brushed my hair away from my neck; the way he had looked at me before I dropped part of him into the fire. I realized then that Charon's rotting appearance and dead eyes meant nothing to me. Nor did his foul attitude ever really perturb me. It was an odd friendship, one that couldn't ever have been built and mended on words. But it was there. Just being there was all I needed.

I tried to say his name, but the sound never came. I started to feel myself being pulled into the dark, and I fought feebly to stay awake, but the fatigue was so strong. I started to think of what my last words to my father and to Charon would have been, but I never completed the thought.

*

I caught up with her a couple miles south of Tenpenny Tower. It was impossible to tell from my distance if it was actually her or not, but I could see the way the figure was walking, with slow movements and staggering steps, and I knew it had to be her. I was on top of a slight hill, so I could see her in the distance, a small speck in an endless desert. I wanted to stop her and drag her back to Underworld to get treatment, but at the same time, I was…I dunno, nervous. It was like I was embarrassed to see her again. But when I saw her trip, fall, and lay still, embarrassment seemed pretty fucking fickle to be worried about. I ran for her.

When I got close, I started to slow down. Didn't know what I'd find when I got to her, and suddenly I really didn't want to know how bad it was. My worst fear was that she'd simply keeled over and died. I never thought I'd be one to say I had fears that weren't related to breaking the contract, but I knew what it was as I walked up to her. Her hair was blown over her face and she was still. I paused a few feet away to get a grip, then I slung my shotgun over my shoulder to kneel beside her.

I kind of just sat there for a second, trying to look at her face through her hair. I brushed it away with the back of my hand, looking into her face. Her eyes were closed, her mouth was open slightly, and a thin breath rattled from between her lips. Well, at least she was alive, but not by much. I realized I'd rested my hand on the side of her face from where I'd brushed her hair away, and I withdrew it quickly, like she'd know.

Tenpenny Tower was close, but they weren't about to let a ghoul in, and even if I just left her on the doorstep to get taken in, they'd likely let her rot before they picked her up. Megaton was the next closest place, but like Tenpenny Tower, we were more likely to get lynched than helped. Underworld was at least a day away, and that was if I ran the whole thing, and those guys probably hated her as much as everyone else seemed to. That was where she'd be most likely get the help she needed. I'd make them.

What was I doing? She'd cut a pretty deep gash in me by destroying my contract, and even though I felt now like she'd done me a favour, I owed her nothing. When you get down to the bottom of it, she was my fucking slaver. Now she wasn't and I had the right to just leave her there in the dirt. In the beginning, that's what I would've done. That was when I didn't give a shit about anyone, though. I didn't want her to die. I really didn't want that. It was a little hard for me to recognize that and label it, because all I'd ever known was how to hate everyone like I was their personal undertaker.

I pulled her into my arms as I stood. She was dead weight, but she still felt small and fragile. This was her at her most helpless. She felt more alive when I carried her into Underworld, riddled with bullet holes.

I started off back east.

Once in a while, she'd twitch or shift herself around in my arms, but other than that, she showed no sign of being awake. She'd mumble occasionally too, but nothing coherent. Her head was propped up and cradled between my arm and my chest, making her look more the kid than ever. It felt totally fucking weird that way. Since it was just me now, and no one else was around to call me out on it (including her), I stared at her face every now and again. I didn't want to miss it when she woke up, or when she…no. She wasn't a helpless kid. She'd pull through. Just like she knew I would.

But there's only so much good you can see after the bad is all that's left. Dark circles surrounded her eyes. She was more thin and hollow than before. When I reminded myself of that, I looked away quickly and picked up the pace a little bit. Gob all over again.

I was making good time when dusk was making its appearance. I was on edge. If anything or anyone attacked us, especially in the dark, I'd be at an obvious disadvantage, not being able to collect my shotgun or my knife. But if we stopped, it could mean her life. I'd keep going through the dark until I made it back to Underworld. I didn't know if I had any time to spare to rest for the night anyway, and even if I did, I wouldn't. She seemed fine enough sleeping in my arms, and I didn't need any more sleep, anyway. Even if I did want to sleep, all the thoughts buzzing in my head wouldn't let me rest. I was passing a tall rock formation on my right side when I heard someone yell.

I dropped to my haunches, turning on the balls of my feet to see where the shout had come from. There was a group of Wastelanders all standing around in a circle, arguing. I thought maybe they'd spotted us and were debating whether or not to charge, but they kept bickering to each other like married couples. There was still enough light for me to see them. I could pick out a couple of familiar faces, including Jericho's. They were all thugs from Megaton, probably sent out by Moriarty. Probably out looking for us. I was too far away to hear what they were saying, but I heard Jericho shout in another guy's face, saying, "They're not gonna be this far out south, you fucking twat! We should be in D.C. now!"

The other guy snapped something back, and Jericho turned away from him, cursing out loud and kicking the dirt. "All right, we stay south, but we make our way east, all right?"

Fuck me.

After a little more bickering, they started out. I couldn't keep travelling tonight, not without getting noticed. I thought I'd let them get a few hours head start ahead of me, maybe give them enough time to circle away out of our path. I looked up to the rocks behind me, and I noticed a deep hollow in the back. Making sure I wasn't in eye shot, I kept low to the ground and climbed the slope towards the cave.

It was small, and a little too short for me, but it was deep enough that we could stay at the back and not get spotted easily. Trying to be careful, I got to my knees and laid her down. She didn't so much as stir. I spent a minute just staring at her. Her breathing had become thinner, and her brow was furrowed.

I sat there against the rock wall beside her, pulling my shotgun into my lap and keeping my eyes on the cave entrance, waiting for one of those fuckers to stumble across it.

Half an hour passed when the world went dark, lit only by a bit of moonlight. No one was coming and no one would. We were safe for now, but I couldn't risk carrying her out in the open, not when the Megaton bunch were on our trail. We'd be done-in pretty quickly if that were the case. Between watching the entrance and her, it took me a while to notice that she was shivering.

In the Wastes, it could get real hot during the day in the summer months (supposedly—I couldn't remember what weather was like in the Wasteland while I was in Underworld, but I heard it through other conversations) and really cold during the night. I couldn't risk trying to build a fire in the cave—that would've been like asking for the world to come fuck us up. I had nothing else to keep her warm either. Shit…she should've known better than to go prancing about the Wasteland with a broken body and enough radiation poisoning to burn out her organs.

She kept on shivering, and I kept on pretending there was no option to do anything about it. You can only go so long seeing someone struggle without giving them a hand. But, ah…fuck. I woulda preferred to take the yao guai on again.

I moved my shotgun out of my lap Without looking at her I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her onto my lap. I let my one arm rest across her, but I straightened out my legs and leaned back a bit, like I was trying to avoid touching the rest of her. That was more than I was able to put myself through. As far as I could remember (now that I had most of my memories back) I had absolutely no experience with personal space or physical contact with other people, let alone women. I felt like a fucking dumbass, though, squirming like I was. I was just trying to keep her warm. That didn't stop me from thinking about it.

Here I was, some old pervert holding this sick girl in my lap, remembering the things I'd kept buried that should've stayed buried. I remembered the dreams that I had about her that I didn't want to admit to. It was probably a self preservation thing. I mean, a lot of men probably had the same kind of thoughts about her, but for me, it was a shot in the fucking dark. I was less appealing than a cup full of brahmin shit. That didn't stop me from remembering how her legs felt wrapped around me in my dream.

She shuddered and I flinched. I squeezed my eyes shut. For some god damned pathetic reason, I didn't want to lose the feeling I had about her. I used to hate people like that. Then again, I used to hate everyone.

The moonlight bounced off her hair, making it look silver. I remembered the first night I was in her employ, seeing her propped up on her elbows, looking at me with something similar to sympathy, and how she looked like something out of a fantasy, like she was too good to be true, maybe. My hand twitched as I considered reaching for her several times, and I finally did before I could stop myself, resting it on top of her head.

Her hair was surprisingly soft and silky, considering she'd been out in the Wastes for weeks without a proper bath. It should've been full of knots, and it should've felt matted, but it felt like luxury. I kept thinking of how I should tear my hand away from her head and stop touching her then, but I kept it there. It felt like stealing. I had this paranoid feeling that she'd wake up and yell me hoarse. That might've been a good thing, if she was in a fit state to yell. After a minute or two, I gave in to the impulse to stroke her hair.

Now I'd done it—I was a full-blown bitch. I was really glad no one could see tall, intimidating Charon petting some girl's hair. That didn't change the fact that it felt…nice, even calming. As I stroked her head again, I let my fingers run through her hair, but then I stopped. That calming feeling died out really fast after that pulling feeling. I lifted my hand, fingers rigid, and I held it in front of my face, looking at the clump of silvery hair that I'd pulled from her head. The strands lay limp in my hand, floating about a bit in my fingers like a hanged man's clothes in the breeze.

I lowered my hand from my face, dropping the clump of hair to the side and putting my arm over her again, pulling her closer. Keeping her close was all I could do.

*

The only time I could remember feeling vulnerable was when Paul Hannon invited me to the Vault-Tec Class Dance. We were seventeen, but I'd never thought of any boy in such a way, so the invite surprised me. I spent my whole life avoiding everyone, save for my father and Amata, and I hadn't spoken to any of my other peers since my tenth birthday. I was cold, reserved, and according to popular opinion, bull-like, so when Paul asked me on what could have been classified as a date, I felt like an animal caught in a trap. The uneasiness spreading within me was unbearable, considering I had never felt it before, so the only thing I could do was withdraw myself further. I did not give an answer to Paul, nor did I talk to anyone for a few days, not even my father. Eventually, he sniffed me out, and one night he cornered me as I came in from work, before I could retreat to my room. I thought he was going to start by trying to pry me open and get me to tell him what was wrong, but he already knew. After he asked me to sit with him, he gave me a lopsided grin, and said, "I heard Paul asked you to the dance."

My face lit up like a red light, and he chuckled heartily for a bit. I looked away, and after fidgeting inconspicuously for a moment, I gave a small nod.

"And?" he prompted, leaning forward on the couch and placing his elbows on his knees. "What did you say?"

"I haven't said anything. I'm not going."

"Oh, honey," he said, giving a warmer smile. I didn't look him straight in the face to see it, though. For some reason, I couldn't. "Is it because you're nervous?"

"No," I replied honestly, "it's because I'm not interested."

"Well, I suppose you can't be forced into liking someone," he said, leaning back on the couch, "and I know I should be glad I don't have to worry about chasing boys off of you with a stick, but…is there something else wrong?"

I felt like I was a small test subject in a Petri dish being scrutinized by a board of scientists. Which wasn't far off; there was only one scientist, in this case. I squirmed a bit in my chair, steadfastly avoiding his gaze. "No. I'm simply not interested."

"The only person you seem interested in is Amata."

I could feel the colour in my face deepen. "She's not…I'm not…It's, um…" He gave me a bemused look before it dissolved into amusement and he laughed out loud.

"Oh, I didn't mean that!" He laughed, shaking his head. "All I mean is, in all these years, you've only had her as a friend. It seemed you never gave anyone else a chance. It wouldn't hurt to make new friends, maybe socialize a bit with others."

"I'm content. I just don't take to anyone else my age. They're…different."

"Yes, I know." He gave me a knowing smile. "I was just afraid that you'd clung to what was familiar and were too scared to give others a chance."

I was about to disagree with him, but I looked away, considering it. "The only people I will ever meet already live in this Vault," I replied, folding my hands in my lap. "I won't have the chance to meet…the right person. And I'm fine with that."

He looked at me wearily, then nodded his head with a sigh. "As long as you're happy, honey," he said with a smile. He slapped his hands on his knees lightly, sitting up straight. "Well, while we're here, is there anything else bothering you?"

It sounded like he was a salesman, trying to sell my worries away like they were junked parts. I knew he meant well, but the gesture just sounded misplaced for him. "You've spent your years only speaking with me and Jonas," I said, trying to sound anything other than accusing. "After mother died, didn't you shut everyone out?"

First his eyebrows rose, then his face fell. He sighed again, looking away from me and rubbed his eyes. "When your mother died, I felt alone. More alone than ever. I suppose you have a point…I don't take to most people in this Vault either. The selection for friends isn't exactly diverse, is it?"

"Do you think…" I hesitated, feeling that unfamiliar sensation of embarrassment seeping back into my stomach, "you'll ever fall in love again?"

"Hah!" he laughed, though something about it was humourless. He shook his head. "I was a done deal a long time ago."

"I suppose I wouldn't mind companionship," I admitted, staring intently at my hands. "But if I'm to spend the rest of my life alone with Amata as my only friend, I'm happy with that."

"Well…then I'm glad."

"Thank you."

"I wouldn't give up hope just yet, though," he added, rising from the couch slowly and heading for his room. "You just might meet the right friend some day."

I didn't believe it, but I couldn't help feeling wonder about my future; what might happen, who I might befriend in the Vault. People changed all the time. Maybe I already knew him. There was something liberating about free will, not knowing where the pieces might fall next.

He patted me on the shoulder. I looked up. "Good night, Dad," I said, showing my teeth in a cheeky grin. I always called him father, and I reserved "Dad" for the rare moments I felt warm-hearted.

He chuckled briefly, returning my smile. "Good night, my little star."


	14. Human After All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon and the lone wanderer reflect on their lives in light of adversity.

My gun was still smoking as the blood from the bodies' heads pooled on the floor. I couldn't move. I had killed people. Two people. One being a man who was supervising my officer training.

Amata was sitting in the corner, her hands over her mouth as she looked upon the dead bodies. She gasped disbelievingly once, then slowly rose from her chair. She was looking down at her father, whose skin was already paling, before she cried out his name and dropped herself to her knees beside him.

I dropped the gun and Amata gripped at his jacket, her eyes squeezed shut. Her teeth were gritted and bared, her fists full of the Overseer's jumpsuit. She eventually looked up at me, eyes full of hate, when she asked me with a venomous voice: "How could you do this?"

My father had just escaped the Vault, and all was in disarray. Some were out for my arrest. I had to leave the Vault to find my father, for I was no longer welcome. He had brought chaos upon them by opening the door and letting the Wasteland in, and I was the last person to blame.

When I had approached the security office on my way out, I could see Officer Mack bent over her, beating Amata with his baton. The Overseer stood behind him, with his hands folded behind his back and his chin held high. I had never felt…How could a father stand by while his child was being beaten? How could he even order such a thing?

So I killed him. Both of them. Without even thinking. They died before they even had the chance to turn around and face me. Before I had the chance to think of it myself. I didn't expect Amata's reaction to be that of contempt; I was led to believe that she had hated her father after all these years, but I…he was the only family she had left, just like me. I had taken her father from her. I was left speechless.

"Go find your father," she hissed, "and never come back."

I was alone. My father had abandoned me and I had alienated my last remaining friend. Her face twisted and she leaned her forehead against her father's body.

I slowly backed from the office, the alarm in the Vault's hallways seeming dull and far off compared to the insistent ringing in my ears.

It's interesting to see how a person's reserve can crumble so easily. Everyone in the Vault had lost their composure because a door that was never supposed to open had. Had I not thought myself above the others? I had become a killer within minutes, and I had lost my dignity shortly after that. I was no different than the rest of them. No…I was worse. I was the monster.

I started toward the Overseer's office, where the door to the Vault would still be open for me, my head hung and my shoulders slumped. That's when I knew what I really was. I wasn't a good person, for "good people" didn't exist. I became detached from the world before I even set foot into it.

*

After about an hour, I decided to start moving again. I secured my shotgun, then secured her in my arms. I stooped to leave the cave. It was darker outside, since the sun was long gone, but I could still see well enough by the moonlight. There was no one and nothing to meet us out there, and that was good, because I still wasn't in a position to defend myself. I started out east again, keeping my eyes open for that lousy fuck Jericho. It wasn't likely that he was still around, but they could've doubled back. Most of all, I kept looking at her, seeing if she'd woken up. She had to.

*

I was climbing the stairs to the mall from the underground metro tunnels when I heard the animal's whine. I paused on the steps, taking my knife from my utility belt and gripping it firmly. Most of the time, I did whatever I could to avoid confrontation in the D.C. ruins, for most residents carried guns larger than I was, and they possessed enough strength to grind me into salt. From the sound of the dog, though, it was injured, and it wouldn't pose any trouble for me. I was still cautious as I approached the top of the escalators, though, for letting my guard down was the most dangerous thing I could do.

The mall was simply piled with litter and rubble, making it look like the war had happened two months before rather than two hundred years before. I could see evidence of a bunker embedded in the earth, most likely for a colony of super mutants. In the distance I could see the remains of the Washington Monument. It reached into the sky like a child's finger; the world was laid to ruin, and it was still standing, pointing at the heavens, making a plea for help.

In the other direction, much closer by, was the dog. It was lying on its side, and it was whining continuously, its breath coming short and quick, with a slight wheeze to its pants. I should have passed on and made my way to the monument to ask about James from Vault 101, but found myself creeping slowly toward the injured creature. I didn't put my knife away; I held it tighter, if anything, but I did lower it slightly.

I was crouched low as I crept to the dog, and it felt like it took minutes to approach it, although it was only yards away. Its skin strained across its ribs. There was a deep gash in its underbelly, its insides threatening to spill out with every breath. Blood seeped steadily from it but death wasn't coming quick enough.

I knelt down beside it. It was a feral dog, and would have attacked me otherwise, but it merely strained its eye toward me from where it lay, watching me with a panicked, desperate look. I looked back at it, curious, resting my elbows on my knees, twisting the knife in my hand. I'd seen several men and women meet similar to worse fates, but this…the dog would have been my attacker had he not been fatally injured, but now we were meeting on even ground. I never had such an opportunity before. I stared into its eye for a long time, and it stared back, its constant whine fading out low before starting high again.

My father. Was he alive? Had he been as lucky as I to avoid doom? The dying dog somehow made me descend into a state of despair. I would never find him, not in this vast, barren world. I hung my head, the dog's constant whine dragging me further into despair. I looked back up again when the whining stopped. Its eye was frozen on me.

I could have helped the animal pass its few living moments of life, but I didn't. It wouldn't have been much of a difference if I had anyway; it's death was only seconds away. It was only a dog, but it was more than that. Father. I wouldn't let it happen again.

I stood, looking over the dead animal once more before heading for the monument. Even though I left the corpse behind, I still felt like its eyes were watching me the entire way, haunting me with the dreadful possibility that I would spend my entire life searching. I'll never stop, Father.

*

Schafer and I were sitting inside this bar inside this ghoul city. We were pretty surprised to find it; it was obvious ghouls weren't welcomed in most places, but the thought never crossed our minds that there would be an entire settlement full of them. I think Schafer wanted to hang around there (despite the fact every ghoul seemed to hate his fucking guts) just for my sake. I think maybe he thought I liked it there. I could care less if I was around other people whose faces also looked like shredded shit. Truth was, I just wanted to go where Schafer went. It was mostly because he held that contract, but it was also because he was the only person I knew. And he was good. But he was a dumbass. And the dumbass was ordering another round for the both of us when he was already shit-faced. So the bartender started to get a little friendly with us.

"An unusual pair, indeed," the guy wheezed, croaking a bit in what I could only assume was a laugh.

Schafer chugged a few gulps of his beer, then wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. "Whadd'ya mean?"

The guy folded his hands in front of him in some sort of weird peaceful gesture, almost as if he were praying. "I only find it curious for a human and a ghoul to be travelling side by side," he replied, bowing his head a bit. I already didn't like this slimy fuck. "What business brings you to Underworld?"

"Tradin', boozin', shit like that," Schafer said, taking another gulp. I think he was doing it because I wasn't even fazed yet, and he wanted to prove he could keep up, but I'm pretty sure he would've puked up his liver if he kept drinking like he was. I looked at him sideways, shaking my head a bit, then sipping a bit of the beer myself. God damn, that shit was gross. Probably fermented it with irradiated river yeast. It was better than nothing, I suppose.

"Drug trafficking, I assume?" the guy asked. Nosey little bastard, he was.

"Nah, just any crap we can find in the Wastes," Schafer replied. He was running his mouth off, and I didn't like it. Had too much booze in him.

"Ah, that's too bad," the ghoul sighed, but it sounded like a goat dying, "I could always use a reliable supplier."

We fell silent again, and Schafer downed the rest of his beer. "Maybe you should ease up," I said, looking at him sideways. I had visions of me watching over him all night while he puked himself silly over a toilet.

Schafer didn't seem to like this, though, 'cause he slammed his empty bottle down on the counter, and growled, "Just keep your trap shut, will ya?"

"Of course." That was one of my automatic responses when it came to commands. I usually adopted this sort of formal tone when I said something like that, and the bartender's eyes flashed, like he'd caught on to something fishy. I really hated this guy, but I couldn't say anything now.

"My, my," the ghoul said with this shitty sounding chuckle, "you've got quite the leash on your companion, if I might say so, sir."

"Yeah," Schafer said, slapping down a few more caps for another beer and shaking his head groggily, "s'cuz of his contract."

"Contract?"

Fucking piece of shit ass wipe! I knew Schafer wouldn't be sharing this precious piece of information if he was sober, and the fact that he just gave it away to this sleazy bartender was very, very fucking uncomfortable. I leaned on the counter, balling my hands into fists, glaring at the bartender as he eyed Schafer like he was a piece of meat. Unfortunately for me, Schafer was real outgoing, so he started really getting into his conversation with the maggot.

"Yeah!" Schafer exclaimed, reaching into his satchel and pulling out my contract. I froze, and if I still had hair on my arms, I'm sure they'd be standing on end at that moment. Schafer waved it a bit, then slammed it down on the counter. "He obeys anyone who has that contract."

Ah…fuck, Schafer. I could see the bartender eye the paper hungrily, then look back at me. "Interesting," he said very slowly, and I glared him down. He just smirked in response.

"Yeah…tragic story, I guess," he said, lowering his voice and staring at the paper. I turned to him, waiting to hear more. "Brainwashed as a kid—listens to whoever has that piece of paper." I'd heard that bit before. I was hoping he knew more about me, but whatever. I didn't want this bartender knowing anything about me. It made me feel on edge.

"Really…"

"Yeah, we've been trudging around together for about a month," Schafer said, throwing his arm around my shoulders sloppily. "He's a good guy to have around." I glared at him from the corner of my eye, but he wasn't looking at me. He was giving this goofy grin to the bartender. I was scowling.

"And might I ask," the bartender asked, folding his arm over his chest and tucking his other hand under his chin, "how much is his company worth?"

I suppose I didn't have any orders to be civil, but I don't know why I reacted like I did. I got up off my stool, wound my fist back, then punched the fucker square in the jaw. He staggered backwards, colliding with his shelf full of booze, knocking some bottles to the ground. Everyone in the bar shut up, some shot out of their seats defensively, including Schafer. His arm was torn from my shoulders when I stood, and he clasped his hand back down on my shoulder, shouting, "What the fuck?!"

I stood there, keeping silent to my orders, obviously. I was breathing pretty heavily, and I probably had a look that could kill on my face. I looked down at Schafer (he was shorter than me, most people were) and he was giving me a pretty angry look himself. "Get the fuck out of here," he said, sounding instantly sober. "I don't want to see your face 'til morning."

My breathing started to even out as I stared back at Schafer. He hadn't been mad at me before, and I felt a little uneasy. I suppose because it felt like a failure to my master, and the contract was starting to drown me in that fucking evil feeling. So, I did only what I could do to avoid that painful place in my mind: I left. I only gave that bartender a sparse glance but I saw something I wasn't expecting and it bothered me. He was holding his jaw and smiling. I stalked form the bar, and I felt some sort of sinking feeling. Everyone else in the bar was glaring at me as I left, but I didn't notice. I knew that grin of that bartender meant shit for me, and I was right.

I left Underworld, and walked outside into the open mall. It was dark out, but the moon was full, so there was enough light to see. There were a few super mutants prowling around in the dark, grunting stupid shit to each other. I caught sight of someone else standing closer to me, and I recognized the bright red hair. It was Underworld's lookout. We passed her on the way in, but we didn't exchange words. I didn't approach her, though. I wasn't one for chitchat.

I leaned against the wall of the museum, folding my arms over my chest. I'd wait until a few hours after sunrise to go back to Schafer, like he commanded. I closed my eyes, trying to take in a deep breath. This was going to be one long hell of a night.

"Long day?"

I opened my eyes and looked down to see the guard leaning against the wall next to me, lighting up a cigarette. I didn't say anything. I usually didn't when someone else talked to me.

"Want one?" she asked, holding out the pack of smokes to me. I kept staring ahead. She scoffed. "Not the talkative type, are you?"

I looked the other way.

"Don't blame you," she said, taking a drag. I could see the embers lighting up in the night. "Not much to talk about these days."

I looked over at her again. Not much point in ignoring her all night. She looked up, stuck out her free hand, then said, "Willow."

Introducing myself was something I'd never done, and only did once after that. I looked her up and down a second before I took her hand and shook it. "Charon."

"Hah," she said, returning the shake and pulling away, "like the ferryman in the underworld, right? On Acheron?"

I looked at her funny for a second. I didn't know that, actually. It was written on the contract. Most people pronounced it "Sharon" and Schafer said it like "Ka-ron." I was about to ask her what the hell an Acheron was, when I realized that she lived inside a museum, more specifically, a concourse devoted to all things afterlife. She'd probably picked it up somewhere in one of the exhibits. I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Fitting," she said. I thought she was smiling with the smoke between her flaky lips.

We spent most of the hours in silence, the hours where Ahzrukhal sweet talked Schafer into shit I wasn't aware of. Hours when Schafer fell asleep, and Ahzrukhal slit his throat while I was away. I don't know when it happened, but…I wished I hadn't acted out like that. Maybe Schafer wouldn't have sent me away. Maybe I'd still be with him now. Then again, if I were with Schafer, I might never have met her. It's just a fucking shame Schafer died. Sometimes…I don't know.

*

We were coming up on the Potomac again when she took in a shuddering breath. She was still asleep, but I thought that maybe this time I'd be able to wake her up, get her to eat and drink something.

I knelt and laid her down, still cradling her by her shoulders. When I gave her a firm shake her head lolled around like a rag doll's. Her eyes opened wide—oh, thank fucking Christ, I thought—but she didn't seem to see me. Her eyes were glazed over like a tweeker's. She went kind of rigid, holding her breath.

"Hey," I said over and over, getting in her face. That didn't seem to help her focus on me, even when her eyes got big. Then she let out her breath, and it was long. Slow. Soft. Her eyes half closed and her head tilted to the side.

It didn't sink in right away. I think I already knew that she was gone but I kept shaking her, calling out "Boss." I stayed kneeling in the dirt for a long time, but I don't know how long that was.

I just thought that…She just…went away. There was no goodbye. The last time we…fuck, I was going to kill her. And that was it. That was her last memory of me.

I didn't feel like this when I found out Schafer'd been killed. Then again, I don't think Schafer was as important to me as she was, to be honest. No one ever was.

This was worse than losing the contract. That was burning away a sickness. This was watching what little life I had fade away.

I closed her eyes.

The sun was starting to get higher. I picked her up again. I didn't know where I was going to take her, or why, but I started north. Her head didn't rest against my chest anymore, but hung over my arm, the neck stretched too far.

I remembered someone in Moriarty's mentioning that Vault 101 was slightly north, within spitting distance of Springvale. I backtracked and carried her all the way there. My neck, back and shoulders burned, but I wouldn't put her down to rest. I climbed the hill near Springvale, and I found the shack door to the cave without any problem.

She'd said they'd exiled her, but…that's where she deserved to go back to.

I laid her down in front of the Vault door, staying next to her for a while. I felt like I should have left something behind, but I didn't have anything but a few caps in my pocket. I closed her mouth, rested her arms on her chest, and left a cap on her lips. Just like my namesake. I guess…that was the only way I could show her…

I didn't look at her face before I left. I thought I wanted to remember her how she was. But I wish I had looked.

It was black when I left the cave. There was no wind, no rain, not a cloud in the sky. The light pollution from Megaton was enough to lead me back into Springvale. I headed for that house where we'd hidden for the night when we escaped with Gob, not so much as looking up to see where I was going. When I got there, I climbed back through the broken boards and stood in the entrance for a while. Just over there, by the couch. That's where she had been curled up in a ball. So I sat there, leaning up against the wall and propping my arms up by my knees.

I didn't know how else to grieve.

The boss and I were opposites, but I supposed we had a lot in common. Our lives didn't seem like they could fit together, but all I could imagine when I thought about my future was following her around, helping her find her dad. The contract…fuck. Fuck the contract. It always was about the contract. But me without the contract? I would have followed her. All I'd wanted was to be there when she finally found what she was looking for.

It felt like I'd spent a lot more time with her, like we'd done so much more, but…she was a fucking blink in the time line of my sorry-ass life. But that's all it takes sometimes. One second to close your eyes and open them again. One person to show you a different picture you ain't never thought could be real. She was the only good picture I'd ever know.

I wish she didn't have to die for me to see that.


	15. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon learns of the client behind the contract for Gob's capture.

I started out for Underworld. I had no other place to go and I wanted answers. There was still that heavy pain in my chest, but now that it'd worn off a bit, I was fucking pissed. I remembered all too easily that someone sent out a bounty on Gob's head and mine, double crossing the boss. Now I was some rabid dog without a muzzle, and I was going to paint the town red with whoever got in my way.

Unlike the past week or so, there was a lot of Wasteland trash in my way this time. Not anyone from Paradise Falls, Talon companies, or Megaton, but a lot of over-grown, mutated Wasteland shits that anyone could find prowling around the dirt for food. I left everything riddled with more holes than a whorehouse. It was like a bad jet addiction where I had to keep hitting up to escape the instant withdrawal. Killing got my mind off of the way her face looked, the way she went rigid then the way she wasn't.

After a couple of hours, I found my way back towards that shallow part in the Potomac, steering clear of the Citadel like I'd said we…No. Fuck it. I'm not going to think about it. I walked right by the Jefferson Memorial and couldn't look at it. Just it existing was a fucking insult to memory. What I'd nearly done in there.

I followed the bank of the river, finding my way towards an old aircraft carrier that looked torn in two. I remembered Schafer talking about that place a long time ago—it was most likely Rivet City. I'd never been there, but I heard enough about it to know I probably wouldn't be welcome. A long docking bridge stretched from the bank to the deck of the boat, and about a hundred or so yards away from the platform was a metro station. I went down into it, passing by hordes and hordes of feral ghouls. They were all watching me. Somehow I was jumping to conclusions here, but they made me think that even if she had survived, we would never stick together. The world we lived in? Feral ghouls on the outside, smoothskins on the inside.

I'd had more than enough introspective bullshit sessions with myself than I could handle. I stopped thinking about anything but shooting shit up until I finally found myself in the mall. The Washington Monument was far off in the distance, safe from Brotherhood territory. My path was clear to the Museum of History.

Home. Jesus shit, home? Fuck that place. Maybe there was residue of anger form being with Ahzrukhal for so long, but when I saw the building I was sure as shit going to bust in and kill every last rotting asshole in that city if I hadn't spotted the couple of super mutants nearby. They watched me from their trenches, keeping their distance. "Clear the fuck off," I yelled past the cobwebs in my throat. It gave me a feral rasp, and I suppose that was just enough to convince those two maybe, yeah, I was about to lose it. It helped me realize that killing everyone in Underworld was going to fuck up all my last resorts. So I reined it in and approached.

Willow was standing beside the escalators down, her arms folded across her chest. When I got closer, she uncrossed her arms and she stepped towards me. "Didn't think I'd be seeing you around here anytime soon." She gave me a cocked grin. "Where's your pretty boss?"

I stashed the shotgun and drew my knife. She didn't see it coming until I pressed it against her throat and pushed her over the median that lined the escalators. She scrambled to break free but I was a lot fucking bigger and tougher than she was. It made me think about how the boss had broken my grip a couple times but fuck off memory and eat your own fucking shit.

"Who hired the Talon company?"

She tried to escape again and I bent her so fucking far backwards over the median that she would have toppled over the edge if I wasn't holding her. "I don't know what you're talking about, Charon, get the fuck off me—"

"Who?!"S I pulled her off the block onto the ground. She gagged and opened her hollow eyes, pleading with them. I started to freeze up—I'd been in this position before. Only, back then, it was the boss looking up at me, and there was a different feeling running through my stomach. Willow winced again, shaking her head as much as she could in a choke hold.

Fuck. As much as I wanted my answers, Willow genuinely didn't know what the fuck was going on. Besides, now that she'd somehow reminded me of the boss, I wanted out of there, fast.

I let her go and stood. As I went down the escalator, sheathing my knife, Willow shouted, "If you so much as twitch your trigger finger in there, Charon, I'm gonna fucking blow your head off!"

Good. She'd be a fucking sorry guard if she didn't. Maybe I'd blow her head off first, if it came to that. But I was going to make sure it didn't come to that, because I needed to find out who the fuck decided to bring me back with Gob on a silver platter, and I couldn't do that if I blew all my last chances to hell.

When I stepped into the shit hole of a city, that re-programmed Mister Gutsy, Cerberus, was already at the door, waiting for me. It had its various weapons out, but it tucked them away once I looked over. A frustrated growl came out of its vocal processor, like it was hoping I'd be someone else, and it grumbled, "Go Underworld, go ghouls, yay…"

"Charon," some guy muttered from across the hall, and I turned to face him. Quinn, the supply runner, was standing there, and a few other rugged-looking residents paused to look at me too. I could see it on their faces. They knew. Everyone was surprised to see me, which means they were all expecting me to be hauled in with a bunch of armed mercs, not for me to come waltzing in solo. I started walking towards Quinn, then storming him down, and I grabbed him by the collar of his old dusty travelling coat and fucking punched him like I'd never socked anyone. Something cracked between us.

I needed that.

There was an uproar of fear, shock, and outrage, but Quinn got up right quick and called them off. He was holding his mouth, blood gushing from between his bony fingers, but he had a look in his eyes like he'd been caught, or he thought he deserved it.

"I want to know who did it," I growled. Everyone in the halls went silent. I could even see people poking their heads out of a few doors in the back and up the stairs. Quinn tightened his jaw. I reached over my shoulder to make a point and heard Cerberus's weapons come back on, and I could almost hear glee behind those turning gears. He liked killing just as much as I did.

"Who did it?" I said even quieter, pausing in between words.

"Charon," Doctor Barrows said from the back of the concourse. Everyone, including me, looked back in his direction, watching him and Nurse Graves approach. As soon as I laid eyes on him, he stopped, some sort of worried expression on his face. He sighed a bit, looking around in the faces of all the other ghouls there with some annoyance, before waving me in. "Come with me."

I walked past Quinn like nothing happened. I felt like all eyes on my back, watching me like I'd explode at any second. Doctor Barrows and Nurse Graves led me inside the Chop Shop. The doors came shut with a loud echo. I fought my anger down. He'd give me the answers. If he didn't…

There were windows lining the back that gave a view of a large open room, where a few feral ghouls wandered around, growling and howling every now and again. I didn't see that the last time I'd been in here. I remembered hearing that Barrows was researching ghoul genetics, but I didn't know he farmed them like brahmin. In between the windows on the back wall was the bed that the boss had been lying on. I could still see evidence of her blood being there, staining the white sheets permanently, but what bothered me more was the fact that someone else was lying on it. Another smoothskin. Another woman. She looked just as beaten up as the boss had been, and she was knocked out cold. I found myself watching her for a long time before Barrows broke the silence.

"I think you've gathered a lot of us didn't expect you. Just you," Barrows grumbled, collapsing into his computer chair and running a hand over his patchy head. "Mercenaries were supposed to bring you and Gob back."

"Why?" I snarled. "Who the fuck sent them out?"

"Hold on." Barrows gestured towards me like he was begging me not to tear him apart. "We want to know what you're doing back here by yourself. No employer? And what about Gob?"

I really didn't want to get into any of that, even though I knew I should have told them. I growled, and Graves inched back from me a bit. Barrows only shook his head.

"After you did Ahzrukhal in, we were…well, shocked," Barrows admitted, leaning back in his chair. "None of us were going to come after you. We know how he treated you over the years, and he got what was coming to him, but still…it was a bit of a mess to clean up, literally and figuratively.

"What's more, you ran out immediately following his murder. It was murder, you can't deny that claim. We knew that girl from the Vault led you out of here. Either she'd ordered you to do in your old boss or she was guilty of something else and didn't want to get caught. She was a nice enough girl, or so Graves vouches," he said, motioning towards her, "but you know as well as anyone around here: we can't trust smoothskins. We didn't have to talk to you to know you hated them too."

"Stop changing the fucking subject." I took a step forward and Graves took another step back.

"Charon," he started, then faltered. "We all wanted the best for Carol, and we didn't have as much faith in that girl as she did, so…" he paused, grimacing. "Most of the town rounded together, threw in a few caps to a pot, then hired the mercenaries. We thought we'd be doing you and Gob a favour."

I was fucking stone cold when I took another step forward, just within arm's reach of him. "So."

"We're sorry. We were just looking out for you—"

"Shut that fucking hole in your face, Barrows."

The first time I saw the boss, I thought the same things they did. Just…now that I knew, everything was so fucked up. If those mercs had never found her and sold her to Paradise Falls, if they hadn't blown up the slaver camp and had us detour the Citadel, if Gob hadn't died and she never got so sick…Sure, it was a stretch, but all of it was their fucking fault. Every last cap each one had thrown in. I took another step forward. Graves whimpered.

But Barrows looked…sorrowful. "Charon, what happened?"

I had a whole tale to make them cry a river, but I'm a man of few words. "Gob was shot to death. The girl died too. All of Carol's money is gone. I came back here to straighten things." Kill every last one of you and tear your corpses apart.

The pair of them looked like I'd just beat the shit out of a puppy in front of them. Graves shook her head. "What do we tell Carol?" she mumbled to Barrows.

The silence that followed was too fucking heavy to deal with.

"Where are you going?" Graves asked as I moved towards the door. I could see Barrows throw a hand out to her to silence her from the corner of my eye, but she did make me pause. I was thinking of what to say, if I should say anything, when I looked back over to the operating table. That redhead was lying on it neatly, with her hands folded over her stomach. She was wearing a plain tunic and pants, but I could see a bit of blood staining them here and there. I didn't see her, though, not really. All I could picture was the boss lying there, her black eyes trying to hold on to me so desperately. She'd never do that again; she was really gone this time.

I left and they didn't try to stop me a second time. I went through Underworld without looking at any one of their sorry ass faces. I wanted to hate them all, place the blame on someone else—that would have made things easier. I think Quinn tried to say something to me as I left, but I didn't stop to let them in.

I walked out into the open mall again, and Willow was standing there, her assault rifle drawn. She looked me up and down, trying to figure if I'd gone in and murdered anyone in there. I kept walking past her. "Charon, where the fuck are you going?"

I did know where I wanted to go, but I didn't say anything to Willow. It wouldn't make any sense to her. Besides, wasn't any of her fucking business.

" I've found out where my father has gone. He went far out into the west, to Vault 112."

At the time, I thought it was the last thing I could do for her.

*

"So," Gob said quietly, throwing a glance over his shoulder towards the rear, where Charon prowled behind us, a scowl on his face, "once you drop us off at Underworld, what are you gonna do?"

We were walking south along the riverbank of the Potomac, trying to find a shallow point to cross over to the other side, or, at the very least, a bridge. I considered his question for a moment, but then I shook my head. "I'm not 'dropping' you off at Underworld, Gob, I'm escorting you there."

"Fine, fine, however you want to say it," Gob said, keeping his voice low. I knew he was trying to avoid letting Charon listen in, but I had no idea why. It could have a self-conscious thing; he did seem quite timid and especially unsure of himself in Charon's presence. But it could have simply been that he respected me too much to make our conversations public. "When you're done with us, what're you going to do next?"

Done with us. The entire point of this excursion was to bring Gob home, but I didn't want to leave them behind, despite the fact that someone from Underworld specifically hired others to take him and Charon back from me by force. I may not have been welcome there, but I wanted to stay with them. Both of them. I couldn't imagine leaving Gob or Charon behind and going back out on my own again.

"Maybe I'll stick around," I replied after a long moment of silence, "get some business done." I wanted to tell Gob about the mercenaries, and I was about to, but he interrupted me with another question.

"And what about him?"

I felt a strong desire to look back at Charon but I was all too aware that he'd be looking right back at me, and it made me nervous.

"You gonna be glad to get him off your back?"

"No."

"Huh?"

"I'll keep him." That sounds horrible, I thought to myself. I scoffed at my own words. "I'll ask him to stay around, I mean."

"Asking him is pointless. Of course he's gonna stick around, as long as you've got that contract. I just thought you two didn't get along much. He doesn't get along with anybody."

"I know. I really…need him around, though."

Gob didn't say anything. I looked at him sideways. He was giving me this suspicious look out of the corner of his eye, a look that was almost teasing. I felt my cheeks flare.

"I never thought a smoothskin could make friends with ghouls, especially that one," Gob said with amusement. "If I were crazy, though…I'd say you've got a soft spot for the bastard, Stella."

That effectively killed our conversation. I shook my head, denying the undeniable. Vulnerability was not something I wore well. He let it drop, though he kept smirking.

It was very uncomfortable to think about. But I really didn't want to part with him. He was not a valuable possession. It was not because he was a very, very useful ally to have out in the desert. And it was not because we were friends. Whatever it was we had, it wasn't friendship.

It was more than that.

In another brief fantasy of mine, he wanted the same thing.


	16. Vindicate(d)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon follows a cold trail to find a friend's father.

It took about a damned week, but I eventually found Smith Casey's Garage, which sat on top of Vault 112 as a cover. It took me a long time to figure out how to open the huge door too. At least it was well-hidden from all the Wasteland assholes that might want to poke their nose around, and in turn, it made it clean. Too clean. It was like the fresh, never been used, still-smells-like-disinfectant clean.

And there was no one there. The bunkers, the cafeteria, the armory—all of it never been used. A couple of robobrains were there. No people.

Eventually I found them.

It was fucked up.

In this large atrium, pods surrounded a mainframe, which stretched from floor to ceiling. It was still operational, but I had no fucking clue what it was for. Until I looked inside one of the pods.

There was this old guy. I mean, Carol old. His vault suit was clean like it'd just come off the store shelf, but his face was so wrinkled I could hardly see where his eyes were supposed to be. I looked into each pod. All of the Vault's residents were here, each inside a pod, staring at a monitor in their faces, hooked up to this mainframe that was still running somehow. The person in the next pod always looked more ancient than the last. All except one.

There was this middle aged-looking guy sitting in one of the pods, his eyes glued to the monitor like all the rest, but he was dirty, unlike them, and he had a small "101" stamped to his chest.

I'd found him.

What the fuck was I supposed to do now?

I stayed there for a long time, just leaning up against the glass. It looked like he was out of commission, maybe being brainwashed. So, I went through my options: one, I could shatter the glass and pull him out; two, I could mess with the millions of wires on the back of the pod; or three, I could shut off the power for the entire Vault. Except all of those options were really fucking stupid and would probably get him killed. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't help but look over the guy's face, realizing the boss was right—she looked nothing like him.

After I had laid her down by Vault 101, I spent hours in that shack in Springvale. I spent longer there in Vault 112, leaning against the old guy's pod, just hoping a solution would conveniently pop up. I felt like saving this guy would be my one redeeming moment. Maybe I didn't deserve redeeming. Or still don't. There really was dick-all I could do.

I eventually peeled myself away from the pod and left. I didn't know where I was going this time. All I wanted to do was stay behind and sit by that pod until it opened by itself. Maybe I'd stay in hiding for a couple of months, at least until the heat over my head cooled down, until people stopped caring to look for me. Hell, I wouldn't have minded if one of them ran into me, so that we could have a fire match. It would at least take my mind off the fact that I'd fucked up.

I should have been careful of what I wished for.

Days of wandering brought me pretty close to Megaton again. I was watching my feet, watching my shadow stretch farther and farther across the ground, making me grow taller.

"There you are, you zombie fuck."

I stopped and straightened. Four guys stood to my right. They flanked me. They fucking flanked me.

I slowly turned toward Jericho and his jockeys. There were fewer of them than the first night I saw them crawling around the desert. While Jericho and two of his buddies looked suited to be hands for hire, the third guy was dressed in a jump suit you'd expect a mechanic to wear. He held this piece of shit homemade rifle, and I knew he'd been scraped off the bottom of the barrel by Moriarty to find me. The old coot was getting desperate. Sure, there were four of them and one of me, but I was a big guy and a fucking surgeon with a shotgun.

"Jericho," I muttered distastefully.

"Where's your freak show?" Jericho said, slowly turning from side to side, squinting into the distance. He was trying to mock me, but I thought he looked like a fucking clown. "You run away from them too?"

"Is it blood or service that Moriarty wants?" I folded my arms over my chest. I was hoping to speed the process along, because I was starting to remember, standing there in front of a bunch of goons with guns, that I really hated people.

"Shut the fuck up, Charon," Jericho blathered, waving his assault rifle in the air. The others took this as their cue to aim at me. I almost laughed, watching the mechanic struggle.

Jericho recovered, though, giving me a sloppy grin. "You know, ever since you showed your ugly mug in my town, I've wanted the chance to kick your ass."

"My boot print still in your ass?"

That killed the smirk pretty damn quick. "You're coming with us, or I blow your brains all over the dirt. Now, either drop the shotgun, or make your move."

I gave him this blank stare for a couple of seconds before I held my hands up. Slowly, I reached for my shotgun and held it out in front of me, making to lower it to the ground. Then I went and tossed it towards him.

'Course, I was never one to keep the safety on.

The shotgun landed in the dirt with a BANG. Lead ripped through Jericho's legs. He shouted, tripping backwards and holding his gun in the air, firing off a couple of shots as he fell on his ass. The other three were caught off guard—the two armoured guys looked to their wounded comrade, while the mechanic just kind of stared at me with wide eyes, his wiry hands holding the rifle loosely while his knees shook.

I came at one of the armoured ones from his side. I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and plunged the knife into the side of his neck. The other guy turned to see a pint of blood gush out. I pushed the corpse at him. It looked like they were dancing as the second guy flailed. By the time he managed to toss the body into the dirt, I'd chucked the knife. It deflected off his face. A huge flap of skin came away and he sprayed blood all over a squirming Jericho and a shaking old mechanic. He swore long and loud, then his scream reached such a pitch that the old guy dropped his assault rifle and covered his ears.

I almost felt sorry for the motherfucker.

I bulled him over, wrapping both hands around his skull and throwing it into the ground like a football. When he immediately shit his pants I knew the force had either knocked him out or outright killed him.

The guy whose face I'd sliced off was still shrieking, but had taken it down a notch. Jericho looked like a rabid dog, spittle all over his face, panting and growling. I stood over him and he flinched. "Fucking dick!" he yelled hoarsely. "I'll fucking get you!"

"Hm. Keep me on my toes."

I picked up my shotgun, then stomped on his assault rifle until it was in more pieces than it was assembled in. "Crawl back to Moriarty, if you can," I said over my shoulder, "and tell him I'll be waiting, as long as the fucker draws breath."

It felt good. But that only made me feel more guilty than I ever had. I don't think I wanted to feel better about her dying—not then, not for a long time.

"You're fucking dead, Charon!"

I'd heard that one before.

*

I wandered around aimlessly in the metro tunnels for about a week before I found the old abandoned raider house. There was a pool table, a generous supply of booze, food, and ammo, and a working radio. It only got Galaxy News, but that's all I needed. I could remember having to listen to his broadcasts for the last five years with Ahzrukhal, and the guy drove me fucking nuts sometimes, but other times I found myself hanging off of Three Dog's every word.

Like that night in the bunker.

"Good evening, Children," he started. I was cleaning out my shotgun. "I've got an interesting opportunity for you adventurous types out there. Remember me talking about that cool cat James from Vault 101 a couple months back? Well, turns out, he's gone missing."

I think I stopped working at that point, but I didn't absorb the words right away. I was staring off into space, letting the words hit me like a bag of bricks.

"Apparently, James went to go visit previous radio guest Doctor Li of Rivet City and had a bit of what we peaceful folk like to call a civil dispute. She hasn't seen him since, and she has her feathers all ruffled over it. She's asking you, that's right, you, to go out and find her dear old friend.

"Now, don't pass up the opportunity so quickly; this isn't all complete charity on your part. No, no. Doctor Li requested that I relay her offer on the air, and also to inform you that a hefty sum of caps will be waiting for you if you can report James's whereabouts to her in Rivet City. Think about it, children. He should be pretty easy to spot if he's still got that Vault 101 suit on him.

"And now, some music…"

An upbeat swing song started to play. I hadn't put much thought to the boss's dad since I had the skirmish with Jericho.

I set my shotgun pieces aside.

There wasn't much I could do. Say I wanted to get in touch with this doctor to let her know where her old pal was. I'd have to walk up to Rivet City, that human settlement on that aircraft carrier. You know, the big city that fucking hated ghouls and shot them on sight. And that mainframe. Computers and I were the best of enemies, and we liked to avoid each other just fine.

So the last option was to find someone to do it for me.

They were loud, not too stealthy. It was mostly the brahmin's fault, really. Supplies clattered on its backside as it waddled forward along the river bank. I counted at least four guards. Good. The more the deadlier.

Even though they weren't likely to hear me catch up, I picked a slow enough pace, but not slow enough to look suspicious. I had a scrawled note in my hand (written with a crappy chunk of charcoal) and I gripped it firmly, like I was worried the wind would blow it away. When I was about twenty feet behind them, one body guard slowed in her step, then she turned on me fast, pointing two shaved barrels towards me. I was at a safe enough distance not to be killed by a shot, but I was still careful. The merchant and his other guards turned, and he yanked on the brahmin's reins to slow it down, looking back at me with wide eyes.

When three more guns were trained on me, I held my hands up. The guard didn't like that. "Back the fuck off, zombie!" she shouted after me, and I grunted to myself. I guess I'd gotten too used to thinking not all smoothskins were so bad. I let my arms fall to my sides again, then tried to step forward. The guard blew off a shell to the side.

"I said, get lost!"

I should've known this was a shitty plan. Why did I think I could do business with some caravan? Maybe it was because of Quinn and Barrows, back in Underworld; they dealt with others a lot, including merchants and drug farmers. I thought everyone was itching for some caps and didn't care if the hand it came from had skin or not.

"You've got to the count of five, asshole." She was a little older, maybe in her mind thirties, with messy blonde hair pulled back in a bun and pale skin that had a tint to it (or a permanent layer of dirt). She had mean looking armour on, and I could see evidence of death and doom all over it. I might've been able to take on Jericho and his lousy cronies, but I'd have a bit more than trouble dealing with her.

Well…if plan A wasn't going to fly, I was going to have to hope they took to plan B.

I raised my hands again and tossed the note to the ground. I walked backwards a few paces, then turned on my heel. Maybe I could go back to the metro tunnels, keep my ear planted to the radio, waiting to hear if anything happened. I didn't want to do that. I wanted to follow these people and make sure they did what I needed them to do.

I turned the corner of a building waited. It was down a slight hill, but it gave me a clear vantage point, without risk of being seen. I watched one of the body guards walk up to it, the trader a few paces behind him. The guard picked it up, and I felt a brief wave of relief go over me. They read the note together.

Dr. Li—he's in Vault 112.


	17. Astrophel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James tries to learn more of his mysterious bodyguard who simply will not stay away.

I was making my usual rounds again, my shotgun drawn, but held at ease as to not intimidate the other scientists, should they happen to walk by. None of them liked me, not even the boss's dad, not since I showed up. A lot of them seemed ready to chase me away scalpels and syringes, but after a while, they figured out I was just fucking crazy, because I wanted to hang around and protect them while they were there, so they stopped.

Everyone still avoided me and treated me like the plague, but they let me be. I didn't exactly tell them why I was there. No one seemed keen on asking either. I think I heard their supervisor, Doctor Li (who turned out to be a fucking bitch), arguing with James to hire someone to drive me away, but no one ever did anything about it. Stuck with me.

It was about a month back that I'd heard James had been found. The caravan who'd dropped off the information accepted the reward (which was enough to retire three times over) had helped in the rescue team. From what I heard, a lot of mercenaries and Wastelanders went out to try and save James. Someone out there must've known more about computers than I did, because they got him out okay. After that, Three Dog spread the word that Doctor Li and James planned to go back and start up a long lost project. He didn't say where, but he didn't need to. I'd been there already.

I knew I'd be less welcome than a feral dog at a tea party, but I felt this vague drive that was almost like how an order felt with my contract. I couldn't do anything to stop it. Going to the memorial to protect her dad was bringing me back to her again.

The first time I showed up at the memorial, everyone freaked. They assumed I was there to kill them, and I suppose it was smart to do so, but all of them were repulsed. I thought that being scientists would make them more open-minded, but they all hated ghouls just like every other fucker. James even gave me that look that said he was disgusted with the idea of me, but he still asked me to leave nicely. He spoke a lot like she did.

"Please, there's no need for trouble here," he told me, a legion of men and women in lab coats standing behind him, "we ask that you leave immediately so that we might continue our work."

I didn't go. "Need protection?"

They looked at me funny. Well, funnier than the queer looks they were all giving me to begin with. "No, the only thing we need is for you to leave."

He was a bad fucking liar. I left to make him feel better, but I hung around the perimeter. Someone would find me wandering around the facility here or there. I staved off a couple of lame attacks, both from the scientists inside and super mutants on the outside. Trust was slow to build, but it needed time. The researchers settled with just giving me dirty looks and shaking their heads whenever they saw me, but I knew that they were the slightest bit grateful for me keeping the super mutants at bay. There was a growing pile of bodies on the terrace, but no one seemed to mind. If they did, they weren't eager to ask me to clean it up. That would mean accepting the fact that I was there to stay.

I was walking through the gift shop again when I heard someone coming up behind me. It was a surprise—it was late at night, and everyone was usually asleep by now, not to mention no one ever approached me if they could help it. I kept my pace though, stopping only when I came to the door that led to the front hallway. I waited patiently before turning back around again.

James stopped in his tracks, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. "Hello, there."

"Evening."

When he kept staring at me in silence, I started to try to pass him. After I breezed by, I could hear James take in a breath to say something, and I paused.

"I wanted to apologize." He had the smoothest voice I'd ever heard, and it made me want to dislike him. The guy was just too damn genuine, though.

I turned halfway around to face him, and he was turned halfway towards me. "I won't pretend that your services here have been appreciated. We haven't exactly treated you with proper hospitality and respect."

I shrugged. His apology or gratitude didn't really matter. As long as I could watch over his back and make sure he was all right, I could go on being happy. I stood around, waiting to see if he had anything more to say, because he seemed to hesitate a lot. He eventually muttered "Sorry," then asked quickly: "why are you doing this?"

I'd wondered how long it would take before anyone had the balls to actually ask me that. Now that he'd put the question out in the open, though, I didn't know how to respond. I had the answer to give him right there, but I didn't want to. It would open a whole new can of worms. How do you tell someone that you were affiliated with his late daughter?

I hesitated too, so he continued. "I suppose I've been extremely short-sighted. I always taught my daughter to be accepting of others, and…the first time I saw you, I have to admit, I was very prejudiced."

Well, fuck you, Mr. Picture Perfect. I ground my teeth together. He looked sorrier by the second. To the guy's credit, ghouls didn't have the friendliest of faces. We did kind of look like chewed up brahmin.

But mentioning the boss…well, that made me back off a little. He gave me this weak smile—almost like hers too—then looked to the floor.

"I'm very grateful for what you've done, but I have nothing to offer, if that's what you're after."

"No." I was trying to avoid the initial question, and he was making it easier for me.

He chuckled dryly. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude. We haven't been properly introduced yet. My name is James," he said, sticking out his hand.

I almost said "I know." I looked at his hand hanging there. I didn't shake hands in practice, even ones without skin. James would probably hate the feel of my tissue on his, but I didn't want to be rude and leave him hanging. So I shook it and muttered, "Charon."

"Charon? Is that your birth name?"

Him opening with trying not to be an ignorant dick killed any chance of me breeding resentment. "No. I was given that name a long time ago. I was Scavo before."

"Interesting. I think its pre-war origins were Italian. I'm not exactly sure what it would mean, though."

I shrugged. "Slave, maybe."

"Why would you say that?"

"Long story."

I'd spoken more words together since I'd left Jericho behind in the dust. It made me briefly think over my various Wasteland enemies, wondering if they were still coming after me, whether any of them were still alive or in any condition to do me in. If they were, they probably wouldn't come for me for a long time, not to Jefferson Memorial. I wouldn't be expected there.

James looked to my armour and my shotgun again, then back at me. "So, you've done this sort of thing your whole life, is that it?"

"More or less." I was surprised to realize I wasn't eager to get back to patrolling. Talking with the old guy wasn't so bad.

"Then why here?"

Did I mention it? I couldn't hide it forever. It'd have to come up eventually.

"Your daughter asked me to."

She hadn't really, but it was a lot safer to say than the whole truth.

He blinked a few times, his smile faltering. "My…daughter?"

"Blonde hair, dark brown eyes?"

"Yes, that's her, but…she was supposed to be in Vault 101. I left her there to keep her safe. Why did she leave?"

Ah, shit. I hated being the messenger. "She was chased out."

It was like I'd punched him in the jaw. "Damn!" he muttered under his breath, bringing a hand to his face. "I should have known…but why did she ask you to do this? Where is she now?"

Fucking hell. What do I do? I thought. How do I say this?

"I don't know."

He shook his head slowly, sadly. "How can she be out there on her own?"

I pictured her laying there in front of the Vault door, a cap over her mouth. Her skin was so pale, it almost glowed in the dark. I had wanted to stroke her face, just to feel her skin one more time. "She's pretty tough. She was holding her own last time I saw her."

James nodded, but he didn't look convinced. "Dammit…I want to go after her, but…I know it sounds selfish, but I can't leave the project again, else it will fall apart a second time."

It's a good thing he didn't want to go after her, or else I'd have to explain why I was really there, I'd have to tell him she was dead. Instead, my mouth opened before I could consider the weight of what I was about to say.

"She asked me to watch out for you because she might not come back for a while."

He gave me another look that spoke volumes, although this face wore surprise and disbelief. "What?"

"She was headed out west when we last spoke. She wasn't sure when she'd come home."

I might as well have told him she'd died, he looked so crushed. There was just no way I could bring myself to give him the truth; it would mean I'd have to live it all over again too.

"She's gone, then," he said heavily. "It's unexpected, but…as long as she's doing what she thinks is right. As long as she's safe. I need to find a way to reach her, though…perhaps a letter…"

I just nodded.

"How was it that you crossed paths, then?"

I paused again. "I was in a bind, and she helped me out of it. Then we did a job together. Brought a friend of mine home."

"And that's when she left?"

"Yeah."

James nodded and looked away from me, a fist pressed underneath his mouth. "Were you two relatively close?"

Ah, fuck you, buddy, what kind of question is that? "Yeah," I said, surprising myself, "I guess we were."

He started laughing. "You know, I'd argued to her forever about befriending people, but she was never interested. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm surprised it was you who she chose as a companion."

I laughed. Holy fuck, I laughed. The sound was a little odd—I don't think I'd ever laughed aloud my whole life. And it was over the least funny thing I'd ever heard. "I am too."

"Well, Charon," James said, though I could still hear the disappointment from the bad news weighing down his voice, "thank you again for your protection. And…thank you for reaching out to my daughter. I'm sure I appreciate it just as much as she did, if not more."

I didn't say anything.

"Well… to be honest with you, I've been wanting to ask you that for days, and tonight I simply couldn't sleep until I got that off my chest," he admitted, giving me a sheepish grin. "I'm sorry to interrupt your rounds."

"It's fine."

"Charon. It's been a pleasure."

"Yeah."

He walked past me, giving me a friendly smile before disappearing in the shadows between light fixtures. I saw him open the door to the subbasement and slip inside silently, closing it gently behind him. Honestly, I was starting to like the guy.  
I wondered if I'd ever tell him the truth about her, though. I didn't think it'd be possible anytime soon, but if the old man let me hang around him for a while, I'd eventually tell him. There was guilt fishing around in my head. It started to seep back into loss. I suddenly wasn't interested in doing my fucking pointless patrol of the empty hallways anymore (I never found anything inside the memorial, anyway), so I walked through the hallway towards the door that led to the outside.

Luckily for me, the terrace on that side of the memorial had only two super mutant bodies , and they were far off, so I didn't have to look at them. I stood in the cool night air for a while, just breathing deep, trying to get the fresh air through my lungs. I was starting to feel a little better.

After a while, I started feeling…oh, I don't know, sentimental is probably the best word, and I looked up to the sky. It was clear, with no moonlight, and I could see a shitload of stars. I never did have much interest in stars, considering I'd spent the last fifteen years of my life cooped up in a bar.

And I thought of her. It wasn't bad this time, though, they were easier to deal with. Contenting, even. If I believed in this shit, which I don't, so fuck off, I wondered if she could still see the stars, wherever she was now. I always did think she was one for star gazing. I suppose it didn't hurt to admit it to myself that I hoped she could.

*

When I was younger, my father always used to tell me that people before the war would look to the stars and make wishes upon them. I told him I thought it was ridiculous. Now…

Even after all of the horrible things I'd seen in the Wasteland, the stars at night always calmed me. There was something there that was just out of my reach, but always there to see. I did say I thought it was ridiculous, but…I think I understood.

In a world this ugly, people need something beautiful to instill hope in them.


End file.
